


On: Christmas

by phyripo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas, F/F, Gen, M/M, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9000229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phyripo/pseuds/phyripo
Summary: A lot can happen in just two days, especially when it's Christmas. Several people are about to find this out first-hand. From an overworked chef to an unhappy Christmas elf and a worrying sister, no one is going to be quite the same after the holidays.AKA: The schmaltzy Love Actually-esque Christmas story we know we all secretly want!





	

**Author's Note:**

> I will become very good at writing stories with too many main characters in due time.
> 
> A schmaltzy Christmas story! With intertwining separate stories! Because I watched New Year's Eve earlier this month and was inspired. So I wrote twenty-five thousand fucking words in less than three weeks. I am actually amazed by myself, honestly.
> 
> The Austria/Hungary is intended as platonic, but you could see it as a lead-up to a romantic relationship if you so desire :D
> 
> Human names  
> Austria - Roderich  
> Belarus - Natalya  
> Belgium - Manon  
> Bulgaria - Stefan  
> Denmark - Magnus  
> Estonia - Eduard  
> Finland - Tuomi  
> Hungary - Erzsébet  
> Luxembourg - Noah  
> Moldova - Luca  
> Monaco - Olympe  
> Netherlands - Martin  
> Romania - Dragos
> 
> Also minor roles/cameos - Angélique is Seychelles, Alex(ander) is Kugelmugel, David is Australia, Kveta is Czechia, Toni is intended to be Spain but it doesn't really matter, Irinya is Ukraine and Ivan is Russia :)
> 
> There's a lot of characters :0

“Have a good day. Merry Christmas, sir!”

The bell over the door chimed when the last costumer of the day left the bakery, and Manon quickly came out from behind the counter to lock up when he was gone. She sighed, stretching.

“And that’s that!” Tuomi announced. She grinned at him as he came out from the back of the small space. “Another year come and gone. I’ll get those pastries down to the hall and then we’re good to go, I think.”

Manon nodded. “I’ll clean up around here. Do you want any of these leftovers?”

Tuomi promised he’d take a look when he came back, and disappeared again. Manon put all their leftovers away – maybe some in her mouth, but who could blame her – and set some flaky caramel pastries aside for Tuomi, because she’d known him longer than today.

Sure enough, Tuomi beamed at her when he returned to find the paper bag on the counter. He and Manon finished cleaning up together. Since the bakery wouldn’t open again until New Year’s Eve, they took down some of the Christmas decorations as well.

“That’s enough for today,” Manon said, glancing at her watch. It was almost noon.

“I’d say so. Do you have any exciting plans for Christmas?”

“Me?” Manon shrugged, pulling her thick hair out of its ponytail, though she was careful to leave the roll in front intact. “I’ll be going to the dinner downstairs, but I’ve got no other plans. What about you?”

Tuomi grinned, grabbing his coat. “Family Christmas Day! It’ll be a riot. Sorry I can’t come to the dinner with you, I’m sure it’ll be brilliant.”

“Ah, well.” She shrugged again. “I’ll survive.”

They exited the bakery together, into the busy mall. Even though many of the shops were closing early today, there was still a bustle of people, especially downstairs. The loud ‘ho ho ho’ that echoed from the Santa downstairs made Manon smile.

“But,” Tuomi was saying, pensive, “no family Christmas for you?”

She pressed her lips together tightly, shaking her head.

“My brothers are… Not on good terms,” she confided in him. “I haven’t seen either of them since my younger brother went off to university last year.”

“Really? That sucks.” Tuomi patted her shoulder. She chuckled. “Did they have a fight, or…”

“I don’t know. No one will tell me.”

His eyebrows knit together in sympathy. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Ah, you know, it’s the second year, and Martin never was too excited about Christmas any—”

“You should get them together!” he said.

Manon stepped on to the escalator and turned to look back at him incredulously. He grinned, round face illuminated red and yellow in the lights of the massive Christmas tree in the center of the mall.

“What?”

“It’s Christmas! Well, tomorrow. If there ever was a time to try and reconcile, it would be now!”

“But I… They’ve probably made plans already, I couldn’t just spring this on them. Besides, I have no idea where Martin is, even—”

“Then make it New Year’s,” Tuomi enthused. “But you should try! Maybe they regret what happened.”

She huffed, stepping off the escalator just in time, her heels clacking loudly on the metal.

“You have obviously never met my brothers, Tuomi.”

“Let’s change that, then!”

They were silent for the rest of the way out, nodding at people who wished them happy holidays. Manon was lost in thought. She had considered trying to contact her brothers, of course she had. Many times, over the past year and a half. Just… She didn’t know where to start, she told herself. Especially when it came to Martin, her older brother, who had always been difficult to pin down. Who knew where he’d be now... And even if she did find him, he might not like it that she had.

“I did get you thinking, didn’t I?” Tuomi joked, and Manon noticed they had made it to the parking garage. She pulled her woolen coat tighter around herself and shivered when cold air from outside blew underneath her skirt, ruffling the pleats.

“You did,” she mumbled.

“Are you gonna do it?”

She shuffled her feet, looking at the polka dots on her shoes. “I want to, but I don’t know if I _can_.”

“The least you can do is try, right?”

“I guess.” She wondered what it would be like to have her brothers together for Christmas. Awkward? Fun?

“Well,” said Tuomi, “I’ll hear about it, then.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you will.”

Tuomi grinned again, putting his bag down on the seat of his motorcycle.

“Good to hear. I’ll see you around before year’s end.”

“Yeah. Merry Christmas, Tuomi. Have fun with your family.”

“Merry Christmas, Manon. And – likewise.”

Manon waved at him as she found her driving death trap of a car and got in, starting on autopilot. She had work to do.

* * *

Olympe could not complain about the way she had been welcomed in the bookstore. The owner had been friendly, if a little stiff, and the cashier had offered her a drink. Still, she was not entirely in her element, sitting behind a table signing copies of her own book, writing Christmas wishes for relatives on covers and making forced conversation with people who liked her work. She greatly appreciated that they did, of course, but life would be much easier without signing sessions.

“Are you doing all right, Ms Castil?” asked the bookstore owner, during a lull in the rush of frazzled last-minute gift shoppers. She looked up at him, smiling faintly.

“I am. Thank you, Mr Edelstein.”

“If you need anything, Angélique can…” He looked around, horn-rimmed glasses glinting. “I do not know where Angélique is, but if you see her, you can ask her for anything.”

Olympe has lost sight of the friendly cashier a while ago as well, but nodded.

A woman laden with bags shuffled up to her table, red-faced and wild-haired, and Olympe turned her attention back towards the books.

* * *

With a sigh, Eduard tucked his nose over his scarf instead of inside, and the fog on his glasses began to clear. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and stomped his feet on the snowy ground, trying to check if all his toes were still attached. He glared at his dress shoes. They were letting all the cold through. He should have taken better shoes; he knew he’d be waiting out here for a while after work.

Tires crunched through the snow, and Eduard looked up, sighing in relief – fogging his glasses up again in the process – when he found the long-awaited taxi pulling up in front of him. The driver, a moderately tall man with a leather jacket and an eyebrow piercing, got out to help with his bags, smiling broadly as he did so.

The inside of the car was blessedly warm and smelled like coffee. The driver hummed when Eduard told him the destination.

“Into town, huh? For Christmas, I guess?” He looked over his shoulder, through the hatch separating him and Eduard, so Eduard nodded. “Lotsa people goin’ that way. Don’t be surprised if it takes a little longer than expected.”

“I understand.”

“’Kay, great! Off to Christmas, then!”

Eduard sighed at the back of the man’s coppery blond head, feeling irrational irritation well up. One of those taxi drivers who’d want to make _conversation_ , great. He hoped he would be in town soon, so he could see his family and finally start his holidays.

* * *

“Dragos!” Luca yelled into the apartment, letting the door bounce shut behind himself carelessly. He threw his patchwork bag on the floor in the hall. “Hey!”

“What is it?” Dragos yelled back from the kitchen.

“I did it!” Luca hopped up and down on one foot while he tugged his left shoe off and tossed it down. The right one followed while he continued, “I got the job!”

“No way!” It sounded like some pots clattered to the ground, and then his brother was poking his head out of the kitchen, grinning at him. Luca grinned back.

“You really did? Congratulations!” Dragos rushed forward to hug him. “Luc, I’m so proud of you!”

Luca, amused, let his brother bounce them both through the narrow hall until they nearly tripped over his bag, and Dragos finally let go of him.

“Oh, you’re gonna be amazing at it, I just know. Mom would be so proud of you.”

Luca smiled, pushing his tongue against the piercings in his lower lip bashfully. He couldn’t remember their mother, but it made something in him glow to hear that Dragos thought she would have been happy about what he was doing with his life. It was difficult to put words to the feeling.

But he didn’t have to, because something was bonking on the floor of the apartment. Dragos rolled his eyes.

“Chill, neighbor!” he yelled at the floor.

The knocking did not cease, and Dragos stomped his feet on the floor.

“I thought they weren’t home,” he told Luca, who grimaced. “Anyway – oh, shut _up_!” He stomped on the ground again.

Sooner or later, Luca thought, whoever lived downstairs was going to sic the landlady on them, and she already didn’t like the Rotarus. Luca always got the feeling she was judging his long hair when she saw him, or his clothes or just his entire being. Maybe he should go and talk to the neighbors before it got that far, because god knew his brother wouldn’t.

“As I was saying,” Dragos said, like nothing had happened, “this calls for a celebration. Luca Rotaru, interning at a major fashion designer… Who’d have thought? Come on, I’ve gotten some pie from work for Christmas.”

The bonking from downstairs had stopped, and Luca put it from his mind for the moment, following his brother to the warm kitchen.

* * *

If one more child touched her, Natalya was going to stab someone with the hideous pointy curly thing on her boot. Probably herself. And she was going to _enjoy_ it. More than this, anyway.

“Mommy, look, Santa!” a little boy exclaimed.

Natalya’s coworker, who was lucky enough to get to sit down but unlucky enough to have to suffer having children drool on his costume throughout the day, let out an enthusiastic, “Ho ho ho!” and waved. Natalya did her best to smile. The bell on her pointy hat jingled. _Merrily_.

The little boy’s mother, already hauling a dozen plastic bags along, made a valiant effort to tug her son away from Santa, but it was all in vain, as Natalya could have predicted. Since the worst rush was over, the boy could race right into Santa’s lap, and his poor mother had no choice but to follow. Natalya felt a pang of compassion.

Christmas Eve was a weird day. Some people were out all day buying gifts and ingredients for dinners with families they only saw once a year, and other people, like Natalya, had to dress up as elves and jingle _merrily_ around Santa in tights and curly boots.

But no one was looking at her now. And it was – she glanced at the clock half-hidden behind the massive Christmas tree – almost three. She was nearly due for a break. No one would miss her. She could leave, Natalya thought. If she found a place to hide for a while, to come to her senses without children wanting her to jingle her hat, then maybe she could merrily face the remaining elf hours.

Taking careful steps, trying not to jingle anything, she walked backwards into the shadows of a narrow strip between two shops.

There were two doors on the end. The first one didn’t open, but the second one did, and Natalya tumbled into a dimly lit space populated by cardboard boxes. She put her hat down on one of them, then relaxed, sinking to the floor. It was chilly here, but that was fine. She didn’t dislike children per se, but a whole morning of them was just too much. Anything was better than that.

* * *

Her younger brother’s contact information hadn’t been hard to find, to Manon’s relief. He was doing well for himself, from what she could see. Head of his study committee, sent out to conferences to talk to important economists… She was proud of him, and resolved to check the economy section of the newspaper more thoroughly in the future. The youngest Leclercq was going places, it would seem.

She had sent him an email asking him to come to the dinner that was being held at the mall tomorrow – both her and Tuomi had been invited due to their bakery supplying pastries for the event, but Tuomi couldn’t come because of his family Christmas tradition. Manon reasoned it would be good to have her brothers meet in a public place, should they both come. What exactly had transpired between them, she hadn’t found out in the past years, but she had no desire to have them fight in her house. Hopefully, they would be civil in public.

The real problem was her older brother. He had always been hard to pin down, and hardly ever in a good way, but now, there was no telling where he was, and she didn’t know where to start looking.

Why did he have to be such a technophobe? Even with their unusual surname working in her favor, Manon just could not find him anywhere.

Maybe she could post something on Facebook. ‘Have you seen this man? Martin Leclercq, 31, green eyes and probably the tallest person you’ve ever met. I want to berate him for being so hard to deal with.’

Yeah, that’d go over well. Manon sighed. She’d just have to keep trying a little longer. Good thing ‘giving up’ was not in her dictionary.

* * *

Checklists. Roderich was running everything by checklists today.

Olympe Castil is here. Check. She has enough books. Check. It is not yet closing time. Check. The cashier is working hard… Roderich groaned. Where had she gone now? To ogle the man out front playing Santa again?

All right. He would get her back, he decided, briskly walking to the front of his bookstore to haul her in if necessary. She knew how busy—

“Can I help you?” he asked the woman trying to straighten her bulky sweater in the music section. Her gaze snapped up to him and her jaw clenched.

“Just looking.”

“Are you,” he said tiredly.

“I am.” She looked away, hiding her eyes behind a curtain of brown hair. “Something wrong with that?”

“Not as such.” Roderich glanced outside. “Please put A Brief History of Glam Rock back before you leave.”

He made to walk outside and find Angélique, but the woman put a hand on his upper arm. He froze.

“It’s a gift,” she said, drawing the book out from under her sweater. Despite himself, Roderich felt a vague sense of accomplishment about being correct about the book she had taken from the shelf.

“That does not mean it is a gift for you as well.”

“I know. But, sir, you look a little wound up. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Roderich took a step back, dislodging the woman, and held out his hands.

“Ma’am, I don’t know what you are insinuating—”

“Oh, god, no, not—” She widened her eyes. “I’m not— I’d never! I’m just saying that it’s busy around here and you look harried and I could help out, okay? In exchange for – it doesn’t even have to be this book. A cheaper one’s fine. I can’t show up to Christmas without a gift for my cousin!”

Though he relaxed slightly, assured that he was not being propositioned, Roderich still felt uneasy. He looked at the woman’s frayed sweater and woolen hat, her nose ring and her ripped jeans and worn backpack, and sighed.

“Does this work often?” he asked. She laughed, somehow nervously and hollowly at the same time.

“I haven’t tried before. It’s Christmas, sir.”

“Well, yes, but…” He glanced outside again, then at Olympe Castil, who was looking their way, eyebrows raised, and flicked her gaze to the checkout, where a queue was forming.

“My cashier has run off with Santa,” he mumbled incredulously. And then, looking over his glasses at the woman, “Please don’t call me sir. Roderich is fine. And if you steal anything, I will know.”

“Somehow, I don’t doubt that,” she said, but she was smiling. Her eyes were green and sparkly. “You can call me Erzsébet. I promise I won’t run off with Santa.”

Roderich watched her put her glossy book back on its shelf and take her hat off, and wondered what he had gotten himself into.

* * *

Olympe turned back to her queue with a smile as the bookstore owner led the wannabe-thief to the register, only to find that it was gone. There was no one waiting to have their copy of her book signed. She bit her lip and glanced back at Mr Edelstein and his new protégée. The woman was already talking to a customer animatedly.

She supposed they’d be busy for a while and wouldn’t mind if she just nipped out for a short break. It wasn’t that long until the store would close, was it? The rush was probably over. And, honestly, if Olympe heard one more ‘merry Christmas’, she was going to throw a book at the head of whoever had said it. She’d even sign it first so they couldn’t complain.

After writing a quick note informing the world at large she’d be gone for a short while and to have a happy Christmas, she escaped to the back of the bookshop.

There was a bathroom, which she quickly used, also to check her appearance in the mirror. She looked fine. Not too tired. She stretched her legs and cracked her back, and re-did the end of her braid. She put on some new lip gloss to be sure, and pulled faces in the mirror.

Next, Olympe tried the doors. Toilet, tiny kitchen, storage—

Something jingled when she opened the storage door, and there was a flash of red and green and blond scrambling into the shadows. Olympe froze.

“Hello?”

Roderich wouldn’t have to face two thieves in his shop today, would he? Olympe took a cautious step into the storage, and curiously picked up a hat with a bell from one of the boxes of books. It looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Nice hat,” she told the shadows. A sigh issued from them, then a tall blonde woman stepped into the rectangle of light from the hall. Olympe was somehow caught up enough in the dark blue eyes gazing down at her and the sharp jaw like a statue that she didn’t notice the woman’s ridiculous getup in red and green for a few seconds.

Ah, that was what she recognized the hat from. Santa’s elves who had been prancing around in the mall all day. But what was this one doing in the back of the bookstore? She was plucking at the edge of her skirt with long fingers, seemingly uncomfortable.

“What are you doing in here?” Olympe asked. The woman pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze, shrugging. “Hiding from your responsibilities?”

The woman huffed. “You could say that.” Her voice was a little hoarse.

“Really?” Olympe asked, amused. She had been joking. Pushing her glasses up, she leaned against the doorpost.

“I’m wearing curly boots,” said the woman. “You’d run too.”

“They look rather fetching on you.”

“‘Rather fetching’,” she scoffed. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you going to report me or something?”

Slowly, Olympe wound her braid around her fingers and pressed the heel of her shoes into the worn carpet.

“I am hiding from my own responsibilities, I suppose,” she admitted. “But I don’t work at this store, it isn’t truly my business that you’re here.”

“You don’t work – oh. You’re the writer. I saw posters.”

Olympe couldn’t stop the grimace, but it made the tall woman laugh softly, dark eyes glinting in the low light, so that was all right.

“That’s me, correct. Olympe Castil, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Natalya.” She was still smiling slightly. “Likewise.”

* * *

Something clattered to the ground. Stefan pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.

Calm. He was calm.

“You alright, chef?”

“I’m calm,” he said through gritted teeth.

A pause. Then, “Okay? Good. Glad to hear that. Toni dropped some plates, but the food survived, so that’s the good news…”

Stefan squinted at the man in front of him. “And is there bad news?”

“Well, just, the, ah, the scallops are probably gonna be a little late. There’s a lot of traffic and scallop man – scallops – the guy who delivers the scallops is stuck, he just called.”

He probably would have laughed at ‘scallop man’, had it not been for… Well, everything else.

“So then we do those tomorrow,” he instructed the cook wearily. “But that also means we can’t do the salad, that needs the scallops, and there’s nothing else we can prepare today.”

“No, there really isn’t.”

Stefan sighed. Of course, there was a contingency plan, but he didn’t think the situation called for that yet.

“So go home a little earlier – I’ll stay and wait for scallop man – I mean… Anyway, and we’ll start early tomorrow to get everything finished.”

“Right, chef.”

Stefan pushed his hands against his eyes in frustration. It was an honor, being asked for something so big, but the charity event he was cooking for was not doing Stefan himself much good at this point.

It’d be worth it, he repeated. It would be worth it.

* * *

They stopped. Why had they stopped?

Eduard looked outside at the darkening road, at the cars surrounding his taxi. Light snow was illuminated in what seemed like thousands of headlights. He groaned and tapped at the hatch between him and the driver. It opened quickly, and Christmas music was turned down.

“What?” the driver asked – rather rudely, Eduard thought.

“Why have we stopped?”

The man turned to look at him, which would have been dangerous _if they had been driving_.

“As I said, there’s lotsa traffic. Plus, it’s startin’ to snow again, and I think some accident’s happened down the road. It ain’t lookin’ very pretty.”

Eduard groaned again.

“That’s the danger of goin’ out Christmas Eve, I guess!” the driver said cheerily, dark eyebrows jumping.

“Oh my god. Any idea how long this will take?”

He shrugged. “No tellin’. Maybe it’ll be cleared up in twenty minutes, maybe we’re stuck here half the night. Everyhin’ gets weird ‘round Christmas.” He smiled at Eduard in the rearview mirror as he turned back to the road. “I hope your family don’t mind waitin’ on ya.”

“Of course they do!” Eduard burst. He just wanted this day to be over already, and the last thing he needed was to be stuck in god-knows-where with an overly happy taxi driver.

“’Kay, no need for hostility, I get enough of that from my own family.”

Angrily, Eduard slammed the hatch shut, and he could hear the radio being cranked up now that the car was mostly silent, since they weren’t driving. He could even hear the infuriating driver singing along. At least his family could sing, Eduard reflected, thinking about their stupid Christmas sing-along tradition that was entirely _not_ his fault no matter what his cousins insisted. The driver sounded like a dying whale.

“ _Driving home for Christmas_ ,” he ‘sang’.

“I wish,” Eduard told the snowy road.

* * *

“It can’t be that bad to be an elf,” said Olympe Castil, who was sitting with her legs drawn up underneath herself on a box of books in the dark storeroom. It was all slightly surreal, Natalya thought. She wouldn’t call herself a fan of the woman’s book, but she had read it, and liked it. She was talking to a celebrity. While wearing an elf costume. And the celebrity in question was a beautiful woman who seemed as tired of Christmas as Natalya herself. It was rather refreshing.

“It is that bad to be an elf,” she said.

“Why are you one, then?” She seemed amused.

Natalya shrugged. “Money?”

“And yet you’re slacking.” Definitely amused. There was an unexpected smile tugging at Natalya’s own lips.

“It’s more horrific than I anticipated.”

Olympe nodded, then tilted her head. She was playing with the end of her long braid – it was mildly distracting.

“We could get away,” she said slowly. “The mall closes at seven…”

Natalya opened and closed her mouth, baffled. They didn’t know each other at all. Olympe was doing a _signing session_ in this very bookshop.

“I’m sorry,” the writer said abruptly. “Forget I said anything.”

“No, no.” Natalya sat forward. “I don’t think Santa would mind, but wouldn’t they be disappointed if you left?”

She shrugged, though she was biting her lip at the same time. “I’m just tired of it. It’s Christmas Eve, Natalya.”

It was, somehow, the way Olympe said her name, or maybe that she said her name at all, that made Natalya huff and reach for the woman’s arm.

“There is an ice rink in the center of town,” she said, heart thudding when Olympe looked up hopefully. “Let me get out of this costume and I’ll show you.”

“That – that would be great.”

Natalya stood up, quickly looking away. “I’ll see you out front in ten minutes, then.”

“Yes. Wonderful. I will tell… I will think of a story to tell them in the shop. That is my job, after all.” She paused while Natalya stretched and collected her hat. “Out front of what?”

“The mall, south entrance. Okay?”

Olympe smiled up at her softly, as if Natalya was the greatest thing to happen to her today.

“I will see you, then.”

“Yeah.” She left the petite woman in the storage, leaned against the door for a moment, taking deep breaths, then left to find her clothes. She could probably get some decent makeup done in ten minutes.

* * *

**[Conversation with** **Noah** **]**   
  
**Luca [15:54]** i got the job!!  
  
**Noah [16:01]** Oh wow, really? Congratulations Luc! :D  
  
**Luca [16:01]** really! youre looking at the new intern at bonnefoy fashion  
  
**Noah [16:02]** Well, I am not Looking at him  
  
**Luca [16:02]** that can be changed

“Luc! I’m so pleased for you!”

Luca beamed at the screen of his phone, where his boyfriend’s face was hardly visible between the scarf and hat he was wearing, and the snowflakes falling around him. His cheeks were red and his green eyes bright, visibly smiling.

“I know, right? I can hardly believe it…”

“You’re the most creative person I know,” said Noah, muffled through multiple layers. “I am not surprised.”

“This is the best Christmas present ever,” Luca sighed. He glanced at the door of his bedroom, but Dragos was out to get dinner, as far as he knew, so he could talk to Noah as much as he wanted without fear of his brother barging in wanting help with something or the other.

“I’m coming into town tomorrow,” Noah was saying. When Luca looked back at him, he was staring at something off-screen.

“Into town?”

“Well, yes. If my bus deigns to show up, that is.” He raised a thin eyebrow at Luca. “My family has a get-together.”

“Oh, really?” Luca asked, both curious and disappointed. Noah hardly talked about his family. In the eight months they had known each other, Luca hadn’t heard anything more about them beyond the fact that Noah’s grandfather was the one responsible for their wealth – though Noah had a keen eye for money himself that Luca sometimes envied. Not that he had that much money to keep a keen eye on. On the other hand, he’d also been hoping Noah would come into town from university to see _him_ , not his mysterious family.

“Really.” He glanced into the dark distance again, then tugged his scarf down and said, “But it’s in late afternoon, so I thought… If you don’t have plans with your brother or anything else…”

Luca’s heart jumped. “Yes! I mean, no, Dragos has to work. You could come over here, that’d be so great.”

Noah’s smile was small but brilliant. Luca sighed. He wanted to kiss him, but they had to make do with things like this a lot of the time. But maybe with his new job, he’d be closer to Noah more often… Maybe then he could finally find the time to tell Dragos that this was the man he planned to spend a significant portion, if not all, of his life with. They had been dating for five months now, and  his brother still had no idea. It was never a conscious decision not to mention it. It just never seemed to happen.

“Wonderful,” Noah said. “I see that my bus is finally coming, so I will have to go now, but we can text later.”

“Yeah, sure!” Luca grinned, and Noah smiled back. “Bye, then. See you soon.”

“See you soon, Luc!” The image of him swiveled into haze of grey, and then went black. Luca stared at his phone for a while, smiling. He’d see Noah tomorrow. What a good Christmas.

* * *

Erzsébet was a surprisingly good employee, Roderich thought. She was just as efficient as Angélique, and worse at wrapping things but better at quickly counting money. He was content with her.

What he was less content with, however, was the fact that Olympe Castil had begged off an hour ago without much explanation at all, and he still had not seen Angélique either. He was starting to wonder if he’d told her she could go and somehow didn’t remember.

Luckily, closing time was nearing. Erzsébet was helping the last costumer, and Roderich was ready to close the doors as soon as the man left his store.

When he finally did, he glanced at Erzsébet, who grinned and gave him a thumbs-up from behind the cash register.

“It is finally time to go home,” he sighed, walking over to her, straightening books here and there. “Thank you for your help, Erzsébet. I owe you this.”

She was still grinning as she picked up the copy of A Brief History of Glam Rock.

“Thank you too.” She shook her hair out of her face. “Can I ask you for one more favor, Roderich?”

“You are free to ask, of course,” he said cautiously.

“I, ah… If you would give me a ride, that’d be great. But if you’re going the other way, you don’t have to bother. I think I’ve got enough change to take a cab…”

“A ride where?”

She fidgeted with her book nervously, not looking at Roderich.

“The homeless shelter off the highway south,” she eventually rushed out.

Oh. Roderich hadn’t been sure, but if he’d had to hazard a guess, he _would_ have said that Erzsébet didn’t have a permanent home. Not that she was actually homeless, though. He looked down at her restless, callused fingers on the book’s glossy cover, on her sweater, and could feel her eyes following his gaze.

“Forget it,” she sighed. “You probably have people to get home to. A wife or a husband…”

“I don’t have one of those,” Roderich said absently.

“Oh, well…”

“I have a son.” He looked back up at her. She raised her eyebrows curiously. “Alexander. He is ten years old.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed. Is he all alone now?”

“My ex will bring him around later this evening.” Roderich pressed his lips together and tried not to think too much about the words that wanted to fall from them next. “If you do not feel for going to the shelter, I am sure he would like to meet you. He’s very interested in people.”

Erzsébet stared at him, silenced for the first time since Roderich had met her.

“I know,” he started, trying to explain something he did not understand himself, “that this is highly irregular, but you have proven yourself trustworthy, and it’s Christmas tomorrow. You shouldn’t be cooped up in a homeless shelter.” He was gaining confidence, starting to speak faster. “Anyone will tell you that I am not a charitable man, Erzsébet, but I like to think that I am kind, and I couldn’t rest easy knowing that I didn’t at least—”

“Stop,” she said, voice nearly breaking. Roderich stopped, then opened his mouth again.

“I apologize if I’ve offend—”

“No,” Erzsébet interrupted again. “No, and didn’t I tell you to stop?”

He wanted to apologize once more, but kept quiet after an amused, yet warning look from the woman behind the counter.

“It’s hard to believe.” She kept fidgeting. “I wouldn’t normally say yes, but you’re right, it’s Christmas tomorrow. But I’m already indebted to you, Roderich…”

“You aren’t. You have paid everything off.”

They stared at each other’s fidgeting fingers for a while, until Erzsébet’s hand shot forward to grasp his own. Her fingers were tan against his pale skin, rough, with short nails. Roderich gasped but made no move to pull back, and her fingers relaxed. He looked up at her. She smiled.

“Then, I would love to meet your son.”

* * *

They were still not driving. Eduard’s phone was nearly out of battery life, and the driver had finally stopped singing ten minutes ago. It was already pitch dark outside and nothing was moving in the road except for the steadily falling snow.

Eduard was getting restless. He pursed his lips and reached for the hatch, sliding it open to look at the road ahead and the spiky profile of the driver. The man looked over his shoulder, smiling wryly. He didn’t need to keep his eyes on the road.

“Somethin’ up?”

Eduard shrugged. “Just bored.”

“Can’t blame ya. It’s probably gonna be a while, though. They’re sayin’ some more accidents happened up front.”

He seemed to have forgotten how childish Eduard had acted towards him earlier, but Eduard hadn’t, and he’d started to feel quite bad about it.

“Hey, uh— Sorry, for before,” he stuttered, and the driver raised his eyebrows, piercing glinting. “I was rude.”

“Oh, that! Don’t worry ‘bout it, man, you’re hardly the rudest passenger I’ve ever had. I’d probably be much worse myself, ya know.”

Eduard huffed.

“Really! Ya look tired. I’m horrible when I’m tired, I couldn’t blame ya.”

“I _am_ tired,” Eduard confessed. “But that’s no excuse to be rude to people who are just doing their job.”

The driver grinned widely, turning further back towards Eduard, leaning his elbow on the back of his seat and resting his chin in his hand.

“I’m glad ya think so. Raised well by that family o’yours, hm? Have ya let ‘em know you’re late yet?” he asked, with a glance at Eduard’s phone, which was lying dark and silent on the seat next to him. He shrugged in response.

“I’m only expected tomorrow.”

The driver kept smiling as he said, “You’ve got it better than me, then. You’re my last trip, I’m supposed to go and meet a friend this evenin’. I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

“Ah, that’s too bad…”

“But ya don’t wanna know that!”

“Oh, no, I don’t mind. We’re probably going to be stuck with each other for a while, aren’t we? So we might as well make conversation.”

The driver absentmindedly pushed his fingers into his spiky hair, which somehow managed not to look ridiculous on him. A heavy ring on his thumb clinked against the eyebrow piercing. Eduard suddenly felt very self-conscious about his sweater-and-button-up combination and his narrow glasses.

“’Kay, then tell me your name. Seems like a good startin’ point, don’t it?” He stuck a leather-clad arm through the hatch to, apparently, shake Eduard’s hand at an awkward angle. “I’m Magnus.”

Eduard grasped the hand and squeezed it in lieu of an actual shake, which he feared would result in a rather painful collide with the hatch.

“I’m Eduard.”

“Eduard!” Magnus smiled, showing slightly crooked teeth. “Nice to meet ya. Ya wanna come sit up front? I’ve got music.”

* * *

How could someone be _this_ difficult to find, Manon lamented.

Well, at least, at _last_ , she had found Martin, albeit through a convoluted series of acquaintances, some of whom she’d really rather not have talked to again. But now that this idea had taken root in her brain, there was no way she was giving it up. She already had one yes, and was eagerly waiting for a reply to the cautiously worded email to her older brother.

You never knew, after all.

* * *

With an almighty groan, Stefan shut the door of the fridge and leaned against it for a moment. It was nearly seven, and scallop man had finally showed up, looking as disgruntled as Stefan felt, with the scallops.

He could go home and be up bright and early next morning – though the idea alone made him groan again – to finish preparing for the massive charity event.

All things considered, he hadn’t even worked that long, but it had been hectic and stressed already. Tomorrow was looking worse in that respect.

But it was worth it, he told himself again, as he heaved himself away from the fridge and went to grab his coat. All the stress was part of his profession and always had been. It was part of what made being a cook, being a chef, so interesting.

The promise of his warm, though empty, apartment beckoned just a short walk away.

It was snowing. Stefan caught some flakes on his tongue and took deep breaths. It was calming.

“I’m calm,” he mumbled. “And everything will be alright.”

“Good to hear!” said a woman on the other side of the path between the mall and the restaurant next door.  Stefan raised his eyebrows at her, but she just winked cheerfully and scuttled after a man in the shadows.

He wanted a cigarette. But no. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do his work right when his lungs were full of smoke and everything tasted like nicotine.

“It will be alright.”

* * *

Erzsébet was full of nervous energy as she followed Roderich up the drive to his house, pleasantly lit with strings of light. He tried to catalogue the hallway in his mind – had he left anything strange out? He didn’t think he owned many strange things, but perhaps he had become immune to them.

The keys nearly slipped out of his leather-gloved fingers. Erzsébet snickered while he fumbled the door open. He hoisted his shoulder bag up and gestured her inside with a deep, steadying breath. The hall was cold, so the first thing he did was turn the heating on so it would at least be warm when Alexander arrived.

Erzsébet was looking around curiously, her beat-up backpack clutched to her chest. Roderich wondered if all she owned was inside that bag. She looked out of place amid the dark wood of his house, but at the same time, he felt that this woman had the ability to shape her surroundings around her. That, despite the obvious hardships in her life, she was still in absolute control. It was an admirable quality in anyone, but especially in her.

Roderich pushed his glasses up his nose and cleared his throat, getting Erzsébet’s attention.

“I will start preparing dinner so that it is ready when my son arrives. If you want, you may help. Otherwise, I’m certain you will be able to occupy yourself with a book or the TV—”

“Oh, I’d love to help,” Erzsébet said quickly, smiling. “I mean, it’s the least I can do.”

“I already told you…”

“I’m not indebted to you, I know, I know.” She tilted her head. Her long brown hair fell across one bright green eye. “Well, then I might as well ask if you have a shower I can use before I help you.”

Though she was grinning, there was obvious hesitation in the set of her eyebrows and the faint lines around her mouth. Roderich wondered suddenly how old she was, but it would be impolite to ask.

“I do have a shower you can use. I will show you…”

* * *

“ _Last Christmas, I gave you my heart_ – c’mon, Eduard – _but the very next day_ …”

“Who told you that you could sing?” Eduard wondered aloud.

“Nobody!” Magnus grinned widely, one cheek dimpling. “Mostly, everyone just tells me to stop. Sometimes they smack me.”

“Your family?” That didn’t sound healthy…

The driver’s grin softened into a lopsided, oddly wry smile.

“No, it’s my friends that smack me. I ain’t really got much family. A half-brother somewhere, some distant cousins I’m pretty sure hate me…”

“Why would anyone hate you?” Eduard blurted, then hurried to look out of the window, face burning. Magnus really was quite good company, save for his atrocious singing.

They were both sitting in the front seat now, watching the snow fall in a steady downpour of white. Eduard had talked about his work for a major music producer, which he thought was boring but Magnus thought was fascinating, even if he was disillusioned about the amount of famous people Eduard had met. In return, he’d shared hilarious but slightly disturbing tales about the strangest passengers he’d had – some of which Eduard severely hoped were exaggerated –, and had then started singing along to Christmas songs on the radio. Eduard’s attempt to silence him by sharing the Christmas cookies he’d brought was ineffective in the long run.

“Oh, c’mon, ya hated me too, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I didn’t,” Eduard denied, turning back to Magnus, whose expressive eyebrows seemed to indicate vulnerability. “I was tired and I thought you were going to be annoying, but I didn’t hate you. And I don’t.”

His heart skipped an unexpected beat at the soft, genuine smile that earned him.

“Good to hear that. We’re probably gonna be stuck together for a little while longer, after all.” His sharp blue eyes flicked from Eduard, who let his breath escape in a rush, to something outside, behind his head.

“Eduard…”

“Hm?”

“Are you still tired?”

“After your singing?” he joked. “No way. Why?”

“Because…” Magnus was leaning over for some reason, crowding Eduard’s already limited space with the smell of coffee and hair gel. Eduard tried not let his breath hitch. “Because the snow’s lettin’ up, and I think it’s just about time to start formin’ alliances for a snowball fight.”

“Time for— What?” Eduard tore his gaze from the fascinating constellations of freckles on Magnus’s nose and hoped he hadn’t been caught staring like a creep, but the man seemed fixated on whatever was outside. Which was… People getting out of their cars. Talking, surprisingly not in anger, but animatedly.

“A snowball fight!” Magnus repeated. “We might as well pass the time, ain’t it?”

 _Might as well_ was evidently the motivation for a lot of things in Magnus’s life. Eduard was almost jealous of the optimistic attitude; he was more of a realist. But…

“Might as well,” he replied, and it didn’t matter that the cold slammed into him like an icy sledgehammer when he opened his door, because Magnus was smiling like that was all he’d ever wanted to hear.

* * *

The waiter threw speculative glances at Olympe, but she staunchly ignored him, and he said nothing. Natalya gazed after the man when he left, then back at Olympe. She looked very different without the elf costume, but Olympe hadn’t been wrong about how beautiful she was.

Not everyone would agree with her, she thought.

Everything about Natalya was sharp, nearly aristocratic, and it was only enhanced by the paleness of her skin offset by her dark eye makeup and equally dark clothes. She didn’t smile often, and had unintentionally insulted three people on the ice rink with her pure bluntness. But she had looked afraid that Olympe would leave every time it was pointed out to her, and had exuded such grace while skating that Olympe, who had done _professional ballet_ , had paled in comparison, and she’d had no choice but to stay with her. To turn herself over in the mysterious, cool presence, try to figure out what lay beneath.

Perhaps it was the writer in her, looking for a story to unravel. Perhaps it was just the part of her that craved companionship that didn’t have anything to do with her book.

“Does he know who you are?” Natalya asked, between bites of their dinner, inclining her head in the direction of the kitchen door.

“The waiter? There is a good possibility that he does. My publisher insisted on putting my picture in the book, after all.”

“I’ve read the book, have I told you that?”

Olympe looked up from her pasta in surprise, shaking her head.

“It’s good.” Natalya pressed her thin lips together in a sharp line, obviously thinking. Olympe waited patiently, sipping her wine. She was interested to hear what Natalya thought about the book.

“It felt very urgent,” she eventually said. “Yes, that’s the word.”

“Thank you,” Olympe replied, genuinely pleased. “That is good, that is what I intended.”

Natalya just looked at her for a while, eyes dark and searching beneath the messy blonde bangs. Olympe looked back.

“Urgent,” Natalya repeated, “doesn’t sound like it means anything, when it comes to stories.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

“No.” She went back to her food. Olympe’s hands were trembling for some reason, and it took her some time to follow the example.

Natalya was intriguing, that was it. The woman who wore an elf costume because she claimed to need money, but knew exactly what the etiquette demanded of her in an upscale restaurant, who was blunt and graceful at the same time and talked, in turns, like Olympe’s wealthy family and like the neighbors’ teenaged son. Intriguing.

They finished their dinner with the occasional comment, but Olympe didn’t feel like conversation was necessary between them.

Afterwards, they said their goodbyes on the steps in front of the restaurant. Olympe did not know where Natalya would be going. She didn’t want to know, because she didn’t want her to leave.

“Perhaps I’ll see you,” Natalya said, hand in the pockets of her fake fur coat. She was standing on a lower step than Olympe, yet was still taller than her.

“Perhaps,” Olympe echoed, feeling particularly ineloquent.

Natalya pressed her lips together, nodded once, turned, and descended the rest of the steps. Olympe looked after her. She didn’t look back. Her shoulders were hunched and the chunky heels of her black leather boots were sinking into the fresh snow on the sidewalk. Olympe looked down, at her own dainty shoes. Looked back up. Thought, _urgent_.

“Natalya!” she called, hurrying down the steps when the woman looked up, halting, then turning around.

Heedless of the snow getting into her shoes, Olympe rushed over to her and stopped well within her space. Natalya did not move. She only looked down at Olympe, and there wasn’t a hint of a question in her eyes. Merely urgency.

Though Olympe got her gloved hands up to Natalya’s shoulders first, they both reached, and their lips met halfway.

* * *

Roderich feared that Alexander – _Alex_ , he had to remind himself – liked Erzsébet better than he did Roderich himself. And not only because she remembered to get his name right. Apparently, Erzsébet was ‘funny’ and had ‘good eyes’ and she didn’t mind sitting very still for several minutes so that Alex could draw her.

Well, Roderich did not begrudge her that. She seemed to like his son too, and it was well worth the scathing look his ex had thrown in her direction. He did not believe she had noticed it. He hoped so. He wasn’t proud of the way he and his ex acted towards one another. It reflected badly on both of them, and Alex.

Alex, who was, at the moment, busily showing Erzsébet his drawings of the cat that had passed away three weeks ago, trying to decide which one was best to add to its memorial. Erzsébet, with her hair still slightly damp, curling against her waist, looked genuinely interested.

“Roderich,” she called, and he startled, putting his coffee down.

“Yes?”

“Was the cat’s name really Mr Knödel?”

He sighed. “It was.”

“Alex says that you named him—” She leaned over to his son, who whispered something in her ear, brown and platinum blond heads bent close together. Roderich had a feeling he knew what was coming.

“It was a girl?” Erzsébet laughed loudly, throwing her head back. Alex looked very pleased with himself. “You named a female cat Mr Knödel!”

Roderich bit his lower lip to stop the laugh threatening to escape. Alex didn’t bother; he was snickering into his hand, which had little splotches of paint all across the pale knuckles.

Roderich despaired of his life choices.

* * *

“I think we lost,” Magnus said cheerfully, face red and eyes wide.

“You _think_ we lost,” Eduard mumbled. He pushed his wet hair back from his face.

“Reasonably certain, yeah.” Flicking some snow at Eduard, he added, “Weren’t ya wearin’ a hat?”

Eduard let his hair fall back over his forehead, shivering when it made contact.

“I was,” he confirmed. “It fell off somewhere.”

An exaggerated pout formed around Magnus’s lips. “And now you’re cold. Let’s go find it!”

“What— Magnus—”

It was no use, as Eduard had quickly learned was often the case with this man. They’d tried to make strategies in the snowball fight, but it was _no use_. Magnus was too impulsive, Eduard too cautious; it had been doomed to fail. And it _had_. He’d much rather go back into the taxi than look for his undoubtedly sodden and useless hat, like the other participants of the impromptu snowball fight had all done by now, but he felt bad leaving Magnus outside by himself, so he halfheartedly looked around the car while Magnus bounded around in the snow like a child.

It’d finally stopped snowing, but it was still cold, and dark, and nearing nine in the evening, last Eduard had checked. He should have been in town by now, but no, he was – being pressed against the taxi by an excited Magnus with a sad lump of blue wool in his hands. He was wearing fingerless gloves, the tips of his fingers an angry red.

“Found your hat! Here—”

Eduard ducked away just in time. The hat descended on the car door instead.

“I appreciate it, Magnus, but I really don’t need—”

“I went through all this trouble!” But he was grinning lopsidedly and _coming at Eduard with the hat_.

“You look like you need it more than I do,” Eduard said, ducking away again and trying to grab the hat from Magnus’s hands. The man laughed, holding it out of his reach. His breath clouded in front of his face.

“It’s _your_ hat!” He somehow got Eduard crowded up against the taxi again, but Eduard fended him off with his arms.

“Consider it—” He managed to turn them around, though Magnus still had the hat. “Consider it a Christmas gift.”

Magnus held the sad lump of wool up, trying to get it out of Eduard’s reach, but Eduard was taller, and then they were both holding it, breathing hard as they looked up, then down at each other. They were pressed together. Mere inches separated their flushed faces. Eduard swallowed, cast his gaze down.

In the moment of inattention, Magnus snatched the hat from his grip and flipped them back around.

“Hey!” Eduard exclaimed, throwing his hands up just in time to stop the cold wool from touching his head. He tried to wrench it backwards, out of Magnus’s grip, but he held on tight and was dragged towards Eduard, hips inadvertently pinning him to the taxi.

They both stilled, even closer now than before, the fog they breathed mingling. Magnus somehow managed to be warm through all those layers, despite still wearing no coat but the leather jacket. His grasp on Eduard’s hat slackened until he let go. Eduard let the thing fall on the snowy roof of the car while the leather-clad arms descended around him. He was trapped against the taxi, but didn’t mind in the slightest, not with Magnus’s heaving chest pressed against his own, the man’s blue eyes filling his vision as he came closer, ever closer, until his breath was hot on Eduard’s chin and Eduard was somehow running his gloves over the leather jacket, wishing he could feel it as clearly as he could feel his heart beating in his throat and—

_BEEP!_

Magnus jumped away, tripping over his own feet, while Eduard sagged against the taxi, clutching his heart and shaking.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Magnus breathed, looking anywhere but at Eduard. And then, “Oh! They’re movin’! We oughta go.”

Without another word, he scrambled to the driver’s side of the car, leaving Eduard dazed and cold on the other side until he gathered himself enough to see cars moving at a snail’s pace around him, and got into the back of the taxi.

* * *

“What’re you _doing_?” Luca rubbed his eyes, tired after his long day. His brother was flitting through the room restlessly, re-arranging this and that, lighting candles, taking pictures of things with his phone.

“Don’t know,” Dragos replied. “Everything?”

“Evidently.”

Dragos only smiled at him, in a fond way that reminded Luca strangely of Noah, whose eyes crinkled when he laughed and who would probably frown, though with obvious amusement, at Dragos’s tacky Superman Christmas sweater and the tiny, ineffective ponytail he’d gathered his hair in.

Luca leaned back on the couch, weaving his fingers through his own hair, which was down well past his shoulders by now. It bothered him more than ever before that Dragos and Noah had never met; that his brother, who had been his legal guardian until Luca had turned eighteen earlier this year, didn’t know…

He almost told him, right then and there, but tugged his hair into a ponytail instead and promised himself he’d wait until Noah was _there_ so they could talk. Dragos liked nearly everyone – with the exception of the downstairs neighbor – so Noah certainly would be no different.

Before the new year, they would have to meet. Luca tied an elastic around his hair, stretched, and got up to help Dragos find more candles, even if he was slightly worried that the apartment was starting to look like a church. Well, perhaps it would make up for the fact that they were forgoing midnight mass this year.

* * *

It paid quite well to be a successful writer, Natalya had thought upon seeing the suite Olympe was staying in, but she hadn’t had much time to take it in in detail, and hadn’t wanted to, because Olympe herself was right there, and much more interesting.

Neither of them seemed to be in a hurry now that they were alone – Olympe had mumbled something about _presence_ between slow kisses that Natalya thought was supposed to explain something, but really hadn’t.

But, god, she was beautiful. She was elegant and warm, and tasted like a heady combination of wine and the chemical tang of cherry chapstick, and Natalya was lost in it all.

Olympe’s small fingers were sliding over the strip of skin showing between Natalya’s dark blue sweater and high-waisted leather pants, warm and almost as intoxicating as the cautious lips on her jaw, creeping up to the skin behind her ear. Natalya had one hand tangled in Olympe’s hair. The neat braid had come undone, as had the buttons on her shirt, earlier.

They were tangled together on the huge bed, shoes kicked off and coats hung over a chair. Olympe’s toes were touching Natalya’s shin, which had made both of them laugh for some indiscernible reason.

They had talked, though Natalya was unsure about what. They had kissed, and kissed and kissed and let their hands wander, and Natalya didn’t know where the night was going to take them, but, as Olympe moved to drag her wonderful lips down her neck, she thought she was uncharacteristically unconcerned. She just got her free hand around Olympe’s waist, fingertips tingling with the warmth bleeding through the thin fabric of her undershirt, and tugged her closer.

Natalya’s fingers skimmed the waist of the pencil skirt until they found the zip at the back. Olympe’s breath hitched against her throat, and the woman leaned up a little, squinting through her glasses.

“Yes?” Natalya asked, stroking her fingertips over the dip of Olympe’s spine. If not yes, that would be just as well, she thought. She could lie here kissing all night.

But Olympe licked her kiss-red lips and nodded. Natalya tugged.

* * *

Christmas morning brought with it a watery sun poking through the clouds, and a message from Martin.

Manon had turned the short reply to her email over and over in her mind while she’d made herself breakfast, but it had not gotten any less disappointing. And he was still concise as ever, she thought bitterly while she blow-dried her hair after a quick shower, having progressed from sadness to anger.

 _I’ve got other obligations_. Honestly. Not even a ‘sorry’ or a ‘merry Christmas’. Just that one sentence and his name. His _full name_ , like Manon was some stranger!

She almost sent an incensed message back, calling her brother a number of unflattering things, but caught herself just in time. If he was going to be like this, she didn’t even want to bother. She deleted the message before she sent it, then stared at Martin’s reply for a while before saving it. She could show their brother, if he asked why Martin wasn’t there.

 _Other obligations_. What an asshole.

* * *

It was quiet in the room.

All Olympe could hear was the faint noise of the street down below, and her own steady breathing.

It was quiet, and she was alone. She could spread her arms out over the pillows without touching light blonde hair or pale, warm skin. The only thing that lingered of Natalya was a faint smell of roses on the other pillow and the contented feeling still hanging around Olympe. But both of these were quickly fading.

What time was it?

Her phone was dead. Olympe sighed and got up to plug a charger into it. Nearly ten already. Natalya could have been gone for hours by now, and Olympe had no way of contacting her. She sighed, stretching.

First, she was going to put some more clothes than only her underwear on, and have breakfast, and then she could decide her next step.

* * *

“Good morning, everyone!” Stefan called into the kitchen. “Merry Christmas.”

“You’re very cheerful today,” mumbled one of the cooks. Stefan grasped her shoulder and grinned. It always unnerved his team when he was cheerful.

“It’s Christmas, Kveta, and we have work to do.”

Everything was looking brighter now, thank God. Stefan could just feel that everything was going to turn out fine, that his team would deliver the best charity dinner this town had ever seen. He called the cooks together to give them a rather disjointed pep talk, which was met with amusement and a chorus of, “Yes chef.”

“Everything will be alright,” Stefan said with conviction. “Now where are those scallops?”

* * *

“Eduard!”

Eduard couldn’t even get a proper greeting in before he was enveloped in his cousin’s arms and he was spluttering into the man’s sweet-smelling sweater.

“Come on in, come! It’s so good that you’re here, after all the traffic last night! I hope you weren’t in town too late, did you get enough sleep? I do hope you brought those cookies you always bake!”

Taking a deep breath, because it didn’t seem like his cousin was going to do so anytime soon, and thinking guiltily about the cookies, which had been demolished last night by him and – the driver, Eduard smiled.

“Tuomi, calm down, I’ll be here all day, you can save some questions for later.”

Tuomi rolled his eyes, but ceased his interrogation.

“And,” Eduard continued, having put his coat and scarf away, “merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you too! But really, do you have the cookies? Manon did make those caramel things, but I…” He pushed his sleeve up absentmindedly and rubbed the tattoos on his forearm. “I ate most of them.”

Eduard laughed, feeling slightly less bad about the loss of his cookies.

“They’re really good,” Tuomi said petulantly, leading them both to the warm living room. As usual, it had been lavishly decorated, with little lights everywhere and fake snow in the tree, which was already laden with ornaments. Everything smelled like spices and pine. Tuomi and his ridiculous sweater looked right at home among the festive colors. Eduard had no doubt he’d be receiving one of those as well, just like last year. And the year before that, and the year before that…

“Eduard?”

“What? Oh – uh.” He sat down on the couch. “No, I don’t have any cookies. Sorry, Tuomi.”

“Aw, really? But you texted yesterday you were taking them?” He snickered. “Did you eat them?”

“Well, I… Yes, some.”

Now, his cousin’s eyebrows rose curiously. “What happened to the rest?”

Eduard pushed his glasses up nervously. He had talked himself into a corner here. He couldn’t lie to Tuomi, whom he loved like a brother. But at the same time, he’d been trying to deny to himself that anything had happened at all. That it had all been a weird dream. He sighed, while Tuomi’s eyebrows nearly disappeared underneath his hair.

“I shared them,” Eduard started slowly, “with the driver of my taxi.”

The eyebrows, if possible, rose even higher.

“Why? I never take taxis – is that a common thing to do?”

Eduard shook his head, barely resisting the urge to take his glasses off and start polishing them nervously. If he did that, Tuomi would know immediately that he was hiding something.

“We were stuck in the jam… It was boring, but we sang Christmas songs and had a snowball fight and—”

He stopped abruptly, face heating, but he’d said too much. Tuomi’s lips curled into an unholy smirk and his eyes crinkled up. With a jingle of the bells on his sweater, he leaned forward.

 _Please let the doorbell ring_ , Eduard thought, _please, please let me end this conversation_.

“Eduard Mets, did you _kiss_ your taxi driver?”

“No!”

“C’mon, don’t lie to me. I’ve known you my whole life; the only other time I’ve seen you like this was when you were caught making out with your neigh—”

“We _agreed_ not to talk about that, Väinämöinen! And, no, we didn’t kiss. We almost did, but it just…” Eduard flapped his hand, then gave in and took his glasses off.

“What’s his name?” Tuomi asked, voice softer now, barely loud enough to be heard over the incessant Christmas music and the bells on his sweater.

“Magnus,” Eduard breathed. He swallowed. Now, he couldn’t deny to himself that it _had_ really happened. “And don’t mention this to Liz, you know she’d have a field day if she knew I almost fell for a taxi driver.”

“‘Almost’, right.” Tuomi laughed.

“Seriously!”

“Oh, Eduard, when have I ever passed on an opportunity to watch Liz make fun of you? Now, I’ll get us some hot chocolate, and you better tell me all about your Magnus when I come back.”

“Tuomi!”

His cousin disappeared with a blurry grin and a jingle, and Eduard slumped into the cushions.

* * *

Up. Down. Half-up? Luca studied his reflection closely, tugging some strands of dark hair back into his face.

Hm, no. Definitely half-up, he decided, tying an elastic around the messy knot he had formed. He raked his fingers through the rest, letting it fall over his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he told himself.

It was almost eleven. He pushed against the snake bite piercings in his lower lip with his tongue as he wriggled his toes into the rug.

Despite the fact that he was expecting it right about now, what with Noah’s impeccable sense of timing, Luca still jumped when the bell rang. He almost dropped the phone in his haste to answer the intercom.

“Hi?”

“Hello, Luca?”

He grinned. “Yep. Come on up.” He pressed the button to open the door downstairs, hung up the phone, smoothed his sweater down, and went to open the apartment door.

Noah had never visited here before – they’d only ever met in his apartment or Luca’s cramped dorm when his roommate was out – but he evidently found the way to the first floor easily. He was on the gallery within a minute, wrapped up in a long woolen coat and a huge scarf, though he began unwinding it when he saw Luca. A smile became visible. Luca grinned back and ushered his boyfriend inside.

Noah was breathing a little hard, having rushed up the stairs, and his light hair was less impeccable than usual, but his eyes were bright and as green as ever and – Luca whistled between his teeth when the coat came off. Noah smoothed his hands down his waistcoat, biting his lip and looking at Luca through pale eyelashes.

“That is a very good look on you,” Luca said.

“Coming from someone who works for Bonnefoy Fashion, I shall take that as a compliment.”

They both managed to keep a straight face for about five seconds, but then they were both laughing breathlessly, and Luca was launching himself into Noah’s arms.

“I’m so glad to see you! I missed you.”

Noah held on to him tightly. He smelled like outside. Luca buried his nose in his pristine white collar and breathed him in.

“I missed you.” The words whispered over Luca’s ear, and he laughed again.

Noah was looking at him when he pulled back a little, expression unguarded in a way Luca knew it seldom was. It had taken him some time to get Noah to warm up to him. Time, and a little more alcohol than was strictly advisable. It’d worked out quite well, if he spoke for himself.

“You look good, too.”

Luca smiled, then leaned forward to bridge the small height difference between them and press their lips together. Noah responded immediately, eagerly and enthusiastically, burying his hands in Luca’s hair, as he tended to do. Half-up had definitely been the right decision. Yep.

They kissed slowly for a long while. Noah’s lips were alluringly reddened when they pulled apart; Luca couldn’t help but press another kiss to them. They tugged into a smile.

“Well, aren’t you going to give me a tour?” Noah’s voice was breathy. It took a while before Luca realized what he was saying, but then he laughed, nodding and taking his boyfriend’s hand to lead him through the small apartment. Four, even two months ago, he would still have felt terribly self-conscious about the fact that it was smaller than the space Noah rented by himself, out by the university they both attended. Now, however, he was eager to show it off, because this place much more _him_ than his dorm room was, and he wanted to be able to show Noah as much of himself as possible.

And, more than that, he was confident that Noah was never going to pass judgment on him.

“Here’s the bathroom,” he started, opening the door briefly, smiling when Noah hummed. “This is my brother’s bedroom, I’m gonna leave the door closed because I have no desire to know what he does in there…”

Noah chuckled.

“And here’s the kitchen… Watch out for the lights, Dragos always goes overboard. Aaand here’s my bedroom…”

He hadn’t bothered cleaning too much, though he had thrown all stray clothes into the laundry hamper this morning. Noah was looking around curiously, cataloguing the cramped space with eyes that were at once analytical and fond. Luca pressed his lips together to keep his smile down.

“It’s so… You,” Noah said softly. He ran his fingers over the desk and its assorted clutter of pencils, scraps of fabric and paper and textbooks. “More than your dorm. I suppose that makes sense, doesn’t it? How long have you lived here?”

“For… Ten years, almost. Since our parents died. So I guess it does make sense that this is _me_.” He frowned at Noah, poking him lightly in the side. “You mean to say that I’m messy?”

“Obviously, that is what I mean. Stop that!” Laughing, Noah caught Luca’s wrist in a pale hand, pulling his arm to the side – pushing their chests together in the process.

“I have told you that I’m proud of you, haven’t I?” Noah mumbled against Luca’s cheek. A pleasurable shiver ran down his spine.

“You might have, but feel free to repeat it.”

“Hm, well. I am—” a soft kiss to the skin underneath his right eye— “very—” to the side of his nose— “proud of you, Luca Rotaru.” To the corner of his lips.

Luca laced his fingers through Noah’s and tried to turn his head into a proper kiss, but his boyfriend pulled back.

“So, show me the rest of this place?”

“I – what – Noah!”

Laughing once again, they tumbled into the living room, where it was impossible not to stop and stare at the gaudy Christmas tree that seemed to take up half the available space.

“I…” Noah trailed off.

“It’s okay, it left me speechless too. You’d expect Dragos to have some sense of style, with his profession, but it’s, uhm… Well.” Luca tried not to laugh at the slack-jawed expression on Noah’s face, but failed. “Red is his favorite color, so, yeah.”

Before long, Noah was laughing too.

“Oh, I want to meet your brother. Now more than ever. No one that can make their Christmas tree unironically look like that can be a bad person, especially if they are related to you.”

Warmth blossomed in Luca’s chest. “I’d like you to meet him.”

“Good.” Noah smiled down at him. “I, well, my family…”

“It’s fine. Come on, let’s sit.”

So they sat on the couch, with Luca curling into Noah, running his hands over the fine fabric of the waistcoat.

“I can’t believe you actually pull this off. I think it’d look ridiculous on me.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Luc. I think you’d look hot.” He tilted his head. “But I might be prejudiced, hm?”

“Fuck off,” Luca mumbled. He wriggled his fingers underneath the waistcoat, feeling the warmth of Noah’s skin through his button-up, relishing the shiver that ran through his body at the touch. He tilted his head to press a kiss to the side of his warm neck, letting his lips linger near the pulse point.

“Luc,” Noah breathed, long fingers tangling in his hair again.

“Hm?”

He didn’t say anything, just tilted his head to kiss Luca deeply, sliding his tongue over the piercings as he tended to do. Luca kept his fingers moving absentmindedly against Noah’s chest. He pulled away to gaze up curiously when his boyfriend gasped into his mouth. Noah was a little flushed, splotches of color high on his cheeks, making the faint freckles there stand out. Luca moved his fingers. Noah bit his lower lip.

“’S sensitive,” he mumbled, color rising. Luca grinned.

“Is it?” He didn’t wait for an answer before sitting up to swing a leg over Noah’s hips, straddling him and pushing both hands up against his chest. It earned him a very satisfying gasp of his name and hands holding his hair, pulling him down into another kiss.

But something had shifted with that one change of position, aside from Luca himself. Something about the way Noah gasped into his mouth sent hot sparks through Luca’s body and shivers down his spine. He pulled back, breathing hard.

“Noah – do you want…” He pushed against his piercings and pushed his hips _down_ against his boyfriend’s. Noah’s breath hitched, hips bucking up.

“Yes,” he breathed. “I… You?”

“Yeah.” He was so ready for this. Had been ready for weeks to take that next step, but their stupid busy schedules never left them with enough time together… But now they did have that. They _did_. Luca grinned, kissing Noah deeply while he started to fumble with the tiny buttons of the waistcoat. Noah’s hands ran over his neck and throat, across his back.

“Mh, get this – away.”

Noah struggled out of the waistcoat quickly, though he did take care to put it neatly over the back of the couch. Luca huffed a laugh, but then they were kissing again, and Luca’s fingers found the right spot again to make Noah gasp into his mouth, curl his fingers into Luca’s back and buck his hips up, and, _oh_ , he was really enjoying this as much as Luca was, wasn’t he?

“Oh, wow,” Luca sighed, pulling back to just push them together, rolling his hips down. With one eye hidden behind a curtain of blond hair, Noah locked eyes with him while he slid his fingers underneath Luca’s sweater.

Needing no words, Luca struggled it over his head, which left him with messy hair and in his sleeveless undershirt. He shook his hair back and helped Noah with the buttons of his crisp white shirt.

When they kissed slowly again, with Luca’s shirt riding up under Noah’s fingers, their stomachs pressed together, and even just that sent sparks of arousal burning though Luca. He moaned softly into Noah’s mouth. Fingers curled on his shoulder blades, and their hips slid together rather harshly. Luca let his hands roam over the warm, exposed skin of Noah’s chest. Their tongues tangled, and Noah was doing his utmost to push Luca’s shirt off without breaking the kiss…

“Luc, have you seen— _Oh my fucking god_.”

Later, Luca realized he had, in fact, heard the front door opening and closing, but not registered it until he heard his brother’s shrill voice. He parted from Noah so abruptly that he almost fell backwards off the couch, only the hands on his back keeping him there.

“Dragos!” He pulled his shirt down and saw Noah trying to hold the two halves of his own together.

“Luca! And – this young man.” Dragos gestured vaguely, blushing as furiously as the both of them and tugging at his left earlobe. “I forgot my— It’s right over— Luca, does _this_ happen a lot when I’m not home?”

Taking a deep breath and smoothing his hair down, Luca stood up from the couch on wobbly legs. His heart was beating in his throat, or so it felt. Noah was silently buttoning up his shirt with trembling fingers.

“No, it doesn’t. Never. Never before, anyway. This was the first… Dragos, this is Noah. My boyfriend. Noah, Dragos – my brother.”

Neither of them said a word, but Noah’s breathing eased a little.

“Your boyfriend? How long have you two…”

“We have known each other for almost a year now,” Noah replied, surprisingly steady, standing up so that his shoulder was almost brushing Luca’s, “and have been dating for almost five months.”

“Five – five months?” Dragos sputtered. He pushed both his hands into his wispy hair. “Luc, why have I never heard about— You didn’t think I would _disapprove_ , did you?”

“No, no! We just… Never got around to it…” He realized that, even though it was the truth, it sounded weak. “I’m sorry.”

Dragos stared for a while, deep brown eyes flicking between the two of them. Noah’s long fingers curled around Luca’s wrist, reassuringly and seeking reassurance.

“I… You know what, you’re an adult, I can’t stop you from doing anything, and…” Dragos eyed their hands. “I trust you, Luca, and I trust your judgment, but I do want to talk about this later, okay? With both of you, if you don’t mind.” He smiled wryly at Noah, who nodded. “Right, okay, well, I’ve got, uhm. Work, to do, so I’ll get my stuff and be off…”

Luca watched in silence as his brother looped around the couch to grab his bag and then back to the living room door. There, he turned back.

“You guys, use protection, okay? There’s things in the medicine cabinet in the bath—”

“Yeah, that’s okay!” Luca interrupted. “Thanks, Dragos!”

Dragos grinned and disappeared. Luca listened carefully until he heard the front door close, then sagged against Noah.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, but then he realized his boyfriend was laughing, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

“I think I like your brother,” he giggled. Luca didn’t think he’d ever heard him giggle before. It was just not something he did. It was kind of cute. He relaxed back against his chest.

“That’s more than I can say at the moment.”

Noah pushed his nose against Luca’s neck, which made him shiver.

“I’ve got to leave at half past four. We’ve got plenty of time yet, Luc.” His fingertips skimmed the waistband of Luca’s jeans.

“We do. But…” Luca pulled out of his embrace and tugged and Noah’s shirt. “Let’s just go to my bedroom, hm?”

Noah laughed and followed him.

* * *

Stefan’s good mood had abated only a little bit despite the frenzy his kitchen was currently in. He thrived on that, really, even if it did leave him exhausted for two days afterwards.

Despite the rush, he couldn’t help but notice an unknown presence flitting around the preparations in the hall, where tables were being set, and through Stefan’s kitchen. A spindly man with eyes often hidden behind a camera, but when not, they were sharp and restless and a curious, nearly red, brown color. Stefan didn’t think a photographer was supposed to stand out like this, but then again, no one else seemed to be noticing the guy like he was, either.

The man hadn’t spoken to him, but Stefan had heard him talk to Kveta in a slightly hoarse voice, sounding genuinely interested in what she was doing.

Stefan wiped his forehead with his sleeve and his hands on his apron. The preparations were going well. Everything according to schedule. He leaned against the doorpost and looked out over the slowly assembling restaurant where before there had only been a hall, and where a hundred people would be eating his food this evening. It could be a great boost towards his own career as well as a good thing for a charitable cause.

Right now, however, there were just the staff, and the red-clad figure of the photographer on the other side of the room, looking down at his camera where he was sitting on a table. He pushed his light brown hair behind his left ear, allowing Stefan to see the glint of a small stud in his earlobe. The man smiled down at his camera, then looked up, glancing around the room and catching Stefan’s eye.

Instead of looking away, he gave a slow, lopsided smile, touching his tongue to his front teeth.

Stefan, after a confused breath, smiled back, and the photographer’s grin grew wider, showing teeth. He winked and went back to his camera, leaving Stefan to stare at the thin fingers fiddling with the buttons. He worried at his lower lip, adjusted his hat, and went back to the kitchen.

Today could become more interesting yet.

* * *

It was rather exciting, Olympe thought. Or it had been. Now, she was feeling despondent more than anything else.

After breakfast, she had called the town mall, hoping to find out where the Santa and elves had come from, and if she could contact wherever that was, but she had merely gotten an automated message. It had taken her a while to realize that it was Christmas Day, and everything was closed.

What now? Was there another way to find out where Natalya might be, or even just get her phone number or last name?

Olympe sat on her bed, idly folding her clothes and putting them in her suitcase, her hair unbraided and falling across her back.

Did it not mean anything to Natalya, the night they had spent together? She didn’t seem like a woman who hooked up with random people, yet she had left without a single hint as to where and why she went.

When Olympe picked up the burgundy skirt she had worn yesterday, something fluttered out of its pocket and fell on the sheets. She picked up the piece of paper to study it, heart leaping against her better judgment. It dropped again when recognized that it was just the business card the bookstore owner had given her yesterday.

 _Roderich Edelstein_.

She put it away and folded her skirt. Then, she picked the card up again and stared at the man’s telephone number. He worked at the mall. He was from this town, most likely. And he was the only lead she had in that respect. She had to call Mr Edelstein and hope he wouldn’t be holding a grudge toward her for walking out so abruptly yesterday.

Well, it was Christmas.

* * *

“Roderich? Sorry to interrupt?”

“Hm?” Roderich replied to Erzsébet’s voice behind him, not stopping his fingers on the piano keys.

“The phone rang, but since you were busy, I picked up for you. I’ve a woman here who says she has an urgent question for you.”

He stopped playing to turn around on the piano bench curiously. Erzsébet, in un-ripped jeans and the same sweater as yesterday, was leaning against the doorpost of the music room, smiling a little, phone in hand.

“A question? What is it?”

“Yes,” Erzsébet told the phone, “what would you like to ask?” She listened, nodding, then conveyed to Roderich, “She wants to know if you know anyone named Natalya. She would have been in the mall yesterday as one of Santa’s elves?”

Roderich idly pressed some keys as he thought, though he knew the mysterious request was in vain. Opposed to Angélique, he had not paid much attention to the actors in front of his store.

Angélique. There was a thought.

"I do not know anyone by that name,” he told Erzsébet. “But tell this woman that my cashier might. She is, if I recall correctly, a waitress today. She could find her at the mall, later this afternoon.”

Erzsébet relayed the message dutifully, but, curiously, was not asked for the cashier’s name. She hung up with a “merry Christmas” and an amused smile at Roderich.

“Do you get this often?” she asked. “Women calling you asking for other women?”

“Not that I recall.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I have to go to my family soon, but Alex asked me to play a game with him. You can participate if you want, I’m sure he won’t say no to a chance to beat his dad at Monopoly.”

She really had him figured out, hadn’t she?

“I would like to, Erzsébet.” He got up from the piano bench. “I do hope you aren’t planning on helping him cheat.”

“Roderich! I would never!”

* * *

“Mother, I don’t think Natalya wishes to talk about her love life.”

 _Yes, thank you_ , Natalya thought at her sister. She put a large forkful of roast pork in her mouth to prevent herself from having to say anything.

“Well, I do want to talk about it,” said their mother, taking a measured sip from her wine. “Natalya, dear, you are almost thirty…”

“I’m twenty-seven,” she muttered darkly. “That’s hardly almost thirty.”

“Speak up when you talk to your mother,” her father demanded from the head of the long table. He looked overtop the glasses perched on his sharp nose. It was clear that he was aging, but he still held the grace their family prided itself on despite the streaks of grey in his hair and the deepening wrinkles around his mouth.

“Yes, Father,” Natalya replied clearly. She caught her brother’s eye across the table. He smile almost apologetically, mouth full of beans, normally messy hair slicked back over his head. Their mother, next to him, looked austere and haughty as ever in a dark blue dress, with her long, nowadays dyed, blonde hair pinned back from her face. Though her mouth was set in a thin line, she did not say anything about Natalya’s love life, or supposed lack thereof.

Natalya knew she had only been cut this much slack because she was the youngest child, because Irinya and Ivan had the family name secured, but she feared her family’s patience was running out. She only went by when it was unavoidable these days, much as it pained her, not keen on sitting through another patented Arlovsky lecture about Marrying Before One Was Thirty.

At least now, she had the buffer of her siblings. Though they had never been very close, mostly due to their large age differences, she knew they cared about her, and felt the same way about them.

Irinya, luckily, managed to steer the conversation toward Mother’s garden, which kept them occupied almost all the way through dessert.

It was delicious, that much Natalya had to admit. She would have to go and compliment the cook before she left, provided the cook hadn’t left for Christmas herself, that is.

Before she knew it, her family were getting up and relocating to the living room in the east wing, from where they would have a good view of the garden. There was a modest Christmas tree near the fireplace, where her parents settled with Ivan. Irinya tapped Natalya’s shoulder and led her to the other side of the large space, where she took a window seat. Natalya crammed herself opposite her sister with a smile.

“The garden does look beautiful,” she remarked absentmindedly.

“Oh, certainly.” Irinya nudged her shin with the toe of a pointy shoe that looked completely out of place on her. “You were very quiet during lunch. What’s the matter?”

Natalya plucked at the hem of her dress. “Nothing much. The marrying thing is starting to get on my nerves.”

“Yes, I understand. They mean well, but it must be exhausting.” Her sister leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “But there is something else, isn’t there?”

“No,” she replied.

“You were preoccupied. And…” Light blue eyes flicked to the collar of Natalya’s dress. She clasped a hand over her neck. She thought she’d hidden the surprising, incriminating mark well – she was good with makeup, and it wasn’t that dark to begin with. Olympe hadn’t been _rough_ — Natalya clenched her jaw.

“It’s nothing,” she mumbled. Oh god, she hoped her parents hadn’t seen that.

“Don’t worry, Father and Mother haven’t noticed. But it’s not nothing!”

“It’s…” Natalya pressed her cold fingers down on the bruise. “It’s nothing now. It doesn’t matter. Don’t look at me like that.”

But Irinya continued pulling the concerned face she was so good at.

Truth was, Natalya had no idea what to think about the previous night. It had been good – amazing, even – but she had left Olympe in her suite without a backwards glance. She didn’t like to feel vulnerable and hadn’t wanted to give the writer the upper hand in the situation. Plus, there had been lunch to get to. That was as good an excuse as any.

She sighed.

“I could have been something, maybe,” she told Irinya, who smiled softly. “But nothing Father and Mother would be pleased about, anyway, and it’s nothing now.”

“Oh. That’s a shame, Nat.”

“It is,” she said, looking at the snowy garden. “It is.”

* * *

“So you have to go?” Luca mumbled into Noah’s neck, hooking his chin over his shoulder and watching while he tied the laces of his leather shoes.

“Hm, I do. Family thing.”

“So you said.” Luca ran his lips over the skin behind his boyfriend’s ear, where he, so it had turned out, was also very sensitive. Luca was looking forward to mapping every place of his body that was, and making good use of the knowledge.

“What’re you doing for the rest of the day?”

“Oh, I… Actually promised my brother I’d come and see him at work, so I’ll probably leave soon.”

Noah huffed. “That sounds fun.”

“It usually is.”

Noah tilted his head back to rest it on Luca’s shoulder and brushed Luca’s hair behind his ear, letting his fingers trail back along his cheek. His eyes were closed, and he was smiling at the ceiling, legs crossed at the ankles. Luca had to resist the urge to slip his hands underneath the waistcoat again – he’d just put it back on.

“I really have to go,” Noah mumbled.

“But baby, it’s cold outside,” Luca sing-songed in response. Noah laughed, but lifted his head with a regretful sigh.

“I had a lot of fun,” he said, sitting straight up on the edge of Luca’s bed. “I hope I’ll see you soon.”

“Before New Year’s.”

“Yes, before New Year’s. That sounds good.”

Luca decided quickly to just leave at the same time, so they could walk down together, which they did silently, fingers loosely linked. Noah’s leather gloves were soft against Luca’s bare fingertips.

“I’m going that way,” Noah said when they were standing on the slippery sidewalk, pointing in the direction of the center of town.

Luca grinned. “Really? Me too. Dragos is at the mall.”

“The mall?” He pushed his hair out of his eyes with his free hand. “I’m, ah, meeting my sister at the mall. She said there’s some sort of charity dinner?”

“Yeah, Dra’s taking pictures for the media and things.” Luca tangled their fingers tighter together to tug his boyfriend down the sidewalk. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

A sad smile. “I haven’t seen her in almost two years. I’ve got two older siblings, but I’m unsure if my brother will be there.” He blinked and looked down at Luca. “Luc… Would you like to meet my sister?”

“Your sister you haven’t seen in two years? I’d be honored. Does she even know you’re gay?”

“She’s aware. I came out when I was sixteen.” He laughed fondly. “No one was surprised at home. Even Father.”

“‘Father’,” Luca echoed. He was finding out more about Noah’s family during this short walk to the mall than he had during the entire time they’d known each other.

“You know how I am. Imagine that, amplified by about a thousand. That was my father.”

“Very good at kissing?” Luca couldn’t help but joke, but he became serious quickly. “ _Was_ your father?”

“He passed away, just before I left. It probably didn’t help.”

Luca watched him watch his own breath cloud in front of his face, squeezing his fingers. Noah smiled tightly.

“What’s your sister’s name? I’d like to greet her.”

“Manon,” Noah breathed. It must be the first time in a long while he’d said her name. “Manon Leclercq.”

* * *

Manon put her lipstick away and inspected the wing of her eyeliner another time, just to be sure. She adjusted the blue bow in her hair, smoothed out the matching blue dress and its petticoats, and then she’d run out of things to do that could stall her.

With a sigh, she put on her coat and scarf, rifled through her bag for her keys, which she found underneath her gloves, and closed the front door behind herself.

She was going to dinner, but at this moment, she didn’t feel like she’d be able to eat much – her stomach was filled with a mix of nerves and excited anticipation about seeing Noah again, and the heavy disappointment and anger that lingered because of Martin’s curt refusal to do the same. She wished she knew exactly what had gone wrong between them, if maybe Noah’s brief rebellious phase and their father’s death had just put too much stress on their relationship, or if there had been something specific that they couldn’t get past.

Maybe, just maybe, Noah would be able to tell her. After all, he’d agreed to come, even though he knew there was a possibility Martin would show up.

Manon managed to start her car on the fourth try and tried not to clench her fingers on the steering wheel.

 _It would all be fine_. She pulled out of her parking space. It would be a great Christmas dinner, which would help charity to boot, and she’d eat some of Tuomi’s crispy things afterwards and would recommend them to Noah.

Ha. Martin had no idea what he’d be missing.

* * *

“Thank you again, Roderich. For everything. The world needs more people like you.”

Roderich privately thought the world needed more people like Erzsébet, who was open and friendly despite her struggles, and much less people like him, who were bitter and hardened despite their fortune, but he didn’t say so. She hadn’t seen that side of him, and was content to let it stay that way. He nodded instead.

“I’ll be sure to tell my family where I got that book,” she added, smiling. “Sorry I can’t come to that dinner with you and Alex.”

“It is fine,” Roderich assured her. “If you want to, you and your family could stop by later. Dessert is open to everyone with a small contribution.”

“My cousin does love dessert. I’ll ask them.” She looped her scarf around her neck. “I have to go. I hope we’ll see each other around some time. Alex.” She nodded at Roderich’s son, who was hiding among the memorial for Mr Knödel. She had braided his hair earlier, giving him the appearance of a tiny Viking. Roderich was surprised by how much it suited him.

Alex waved.

“And Roderich. I had a wonderful time.” Erzsébet put her hands on his shoulders and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Take care, both of you.”

“Ew,” said Alex, and she blew him a teasing kiss, which he ducked away from. Roderich could feel the color rising in his own cheeks.

“Have a merry Christmas, Erzsébet.”

And she was gone the next breath.

* * *

No one seemed to know Angélique. Not by name, by job description, by physical description, or as ‘Santa’s girlfriend’, which Olympe had to admit was a very last-resort descriptor, but one that she had found herself using more and more over the course of the afternoon.

“Excuse me?” she asked a pointy man sitting on a table. And, oh, she was reaching her wit’s end if she thought ‘pointy’ was a good describing word for a person.

“I know I’m not supposed to sit here,” he rushed to say, jumping to his feet in a flash of red. The fake leather of his pants squeaked.

“That is none of my concern,” she said, waving it away. “I’m looking for someone named Angélique?”

“I don’t know anyone named Angélique,” he replied. Then, picking up a camera and nearly toppling Olympe over in his sudden hurry to get past her, “Luc! You made it.”

She stomped after him angrily, because she hadn’t had the chance to use her other descriptors yet, and he might just recognize one of those.

The pointy man was hugging an equally pointy teenager with long hair and a patchwork coat. Olympe sighed. She couldn’t interrupt a family reunion.

“Ms Castil?” asked a young blond man, who had been watching the other two hug with amusement.

“What?” She just resisted the urge to snap, but was aware she didn’t sound very friendly.

“Sorry to bother you, I merely wanted to say I enjoyed your book very much. It is an honor to see you in real life.”

“Ah – I apologize.” Olympe tried to smile at the tall, waistcoat-clad figure. “Thank you, I appreciate it… Say, you don’t happen to know the cashier of the bookstore here, do you? Her name is Angélique.”

He smiled, bemused. “No, sorry, I bought the book online. Luca, do you know an Angélique?”

The pointy teenager hooked his chin over the blond’s shoulder and pushed his tongue against one of the piercings in his lower lip, which made it jut out. Olympe couldn’t help but watch it in morbid fascination.

“I… Don’t think so. No, sorry.”

“What? Oh. Thank you.” Olympe pushed her hands against her face, dislodging her glasses. She needed to get a _grip_ on herself.

“Are you all right, Ms Castil?” asked the blond boy.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled. She took a deep breath, dropping her hands. “I have a lot of things to do. Please excuse me.”

There were some other newly arrived people on the other side of the hall – one of them might just know Angélique.

* * *

Eduard had been correct about the sweater – Tuomi had gotten both him and Liz one too. They had both put them on dutifully, and Liz was now entertaining Tuomi’s little dog by jingling the bells on hers continuously.

She looked good, Eduard thought. Liz, that is. Although Tuomi took very good care of his dog, so she looked great as well, all white and fluffy and Eduard still wondered why she was named Bloody Flower Egg but had resigned himself to the fact that he would never know.

“Ed!” Liz said suddenly. “I have a present for you!” She dislodged the dog from her lap to reach for her bag and pull out a flat package, handing it to Eduard.

It felt like a book.

It _was_ a book. A Brief History of Glam Rock. Eduard snorted, watching the glossy cover reflect the – what felt like – millions of lights in the living room.

“Thanks, Liz,” he said honestly, smiling at his cousin. He did like glam rock, though it wasn’t something he was particularly proud of. She grinned.

“Well, if you two will never stop calling me my childhood nickname, I’ll never let you live down your childhood obsessions.”

“You didn’t get Tuomi a Moomin,” Eduard countered, “ _Erzsébet_.”

“Tuomi isn’t ashamed of his Moomin fixation. You, on the other hand, are mortified. Though I don’t see why, right, Tuomi?”

Tuomi grinned, eyes twinkling. “Oh no, I don’t either. Why would you ever be ashamed of liking men in tight leather pants, you know… With glittery makeup on…”

“Tuomi…” Eduard groaned.

 _Erzsébet_ chortled. “Right! I can’t believe Aunt Laura was actually surprised when you came out!”

“It was the _music_ ,” he tried, knowing it was no use. Both his cousins just laughed, and he couldn’t help but join in. “You guys are horrible.”

“You love us,” Tuomi laughed, poking Eduard’s shoulder from his chair.

“Still horrible.” He pushed his glasses up. “And I’ll have you know that my mom was very supportive when I wanted to apply a new label to my sexuality every month for a year. I wouldn’t have the patience for that.”

Tuomi perked up, jingling merrily. “Speaking of sexuality – Liz, you _have_ to hear what happened to Eduard on the way into town.”

“No, Tuomi…”

But she was eagerly leaning forward, swiping long brown hair out of her face, and Eduard saw himself compelled to repeat the whole story again, this time with enthusiastic interjections from Tuomi and Liz’s usual dry commentary. He often thought that, if they hadn’t been cousins, the three of them would never even have looked twice at each other – they were just so different. But he was glad they were still close even though their parents hung out less these days.

Well, he was slightly less glad at this exact moment, but his point remained.

“An impressive story,” Liz mused. “Mind if I counter?”

Eduard tilted his head curiously.

“Because you know where that book came from? I promised I’d tell you that, by the way…”

And she proceeded to tell them a story that was far more unbelievable than Eduard’s. Though he had to admit he got caught on her trying to _steal_ the book for a while – he knew that she was not well off, though she always refused help, but had no idea it was that bad – Eduard was rather struck by the kindness of the bookstore owner. He made a mental note to go and buy a book from him in the new year.

Tuomi was grinning so widely by the end that Eduard thought his face might split. He shared an amused glance with Liz, then threw him a quizzical look. Impossibly, the grin got wider still.

“All this Christmas spirit! It’s amazing!”

“You sap,” Liz said. “But hey, we’re invited to the charity dinner at the mall? Dessert’s open to all. It’s, ah… It’s for the homeless. Which is kind of… Anyway, want to go later? After karaoke, yes, you don’t have to look so scared, Tuomi.”

“Sure!” Tuomi said, once again beaming. His round cheeks were red with excitement. The dog was hopping around his socked feet.

Eduard nodded at Liz. “I’d love to go and meet your Roderich.”

“Shut up, Ed.”

* * *

To say Roderich was confused would be an understatement.

“Allow me to summarize,” he said, taking his glasses off. “Ms Castil, you are the one who called looking for a Natalya, to which I replied to find Angélique – whose last name is Clarke, should it be of any help – and now you have been unable to find her for the entire afternoon. Is that correct?”

“Just about.”

“I see.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Do you see Angélique, Mr Edelstein?” Olympe Castil asked. She had wound her long braid around her wrist.

“I…” He looked around the hall once more. “Apologies, I don’t. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

The writer sighed, unwinding her braid and pressing her lilac nails into the palm of her hand. Then she squinted up at Roderich.

“Would it help if you put your glasses on?”

“Uhm. I’m afraid these are… Window glass.” He put them back on anyway. It did not make the incredulous look being sent his way less clear, regrettably.

“It’s a fashion statement,” he added weakly.

“Of course. Thank you anyway, Mr Edelstein. I suppose I should ask some more people. Perhaps it is time to give up.” She started to walk towards a waiter who was putting cutlery down, but turned back to ask, “Sorry, what was her full name again? Angélique…”

“Angélique Clarke,” Roderich replied.

“Thank you.”

“Hey,” said the waiter, “what’s this about my wife?”

Roderich stared up at his tan, vaguely familiar face.

“Angélique is _married_?” he blurted.

* * *

It would have been hard to miss Noah, Manon reckoned. He was certainly almost as tall as Martin by now, and still kept his hair in that ridiculous asymmetrical style that covered half his face. But he looked good. Healthy and happy and – he’d spotted her.

 Manon waved at her brother tentatively. She couldn’t stop herself from once again smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in her dress.

Noah was turning fully to her, and they were close all of a sudden, and he was looking down at her with eyes still a perfect mirror of her own.

“Look at you,” Manon breathed, reaching for his arm cautiously, fingertips touching the crisp white fabric of his sleeve, “all dressed up fancy.”

He smiled a small smile, arms tucked tight against his sides.

“You look beautiful too, Manon. It’s so—”

His arms shot out and wrapped around her shoulders, and she could only cling to him, pressing her cold nose against his neck.

“I’m so glad you came,” she mumbled. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too. Is Martin—”

“No.”

He sighed, pulling back. But his hands remained on her shoulders.

“It doesn’t matter,” Manon lied through her teeth. Noah’s answering smile was tight. He knew that it did matter. They both knew. It wasn’t the two of them that had a problem, not really.

“This is enough for now,” she added.

“Yes. It will be. Come sit, I saved you a seat. We have many things to talk about, don’t you think?” He glanced over his shoulder at the table he’d come from.

“Yeah, we do!” She pulled him close once more, and he huffed a laugh into her hair. He smelled like soap and the faintest hint of something spicy.

“Come on, Manon, dinner is starting.”

* * *

Stefan took a very deep breath and leaned on the counter for a few seconds, relieving his aching feet of his weight.

The first course had been served out, and he couldn’t complain. Apart from some strange complaints from the waiting staff volunteers about a famous writer harassing them about something, everything was still going according to plan.

Well – there was the matter of the photographer, who was flitting around the hall and the kitchen and who had definitely not been part of the plan, with his ability to somehow not get in the way at all yet stand out like a sore thumb to Stefan. He kept seeing the striking rust-brown eyes peeking over the camera even when he tried not to, and they always seemed to be looking his way. Even when he wasn’t doing anything interesting.

He did hope the guy was taking pictures of things when he wasn’t in Stefan’s view.

In this rare quiet moment in the kitchen, it was easy to hear the telltale _click_ of a shutter behind Stefan.

He whirled around, and those e _yes_ looked up to him slowly while a lopsided smile curled around the photographer’s thin lips. Stefan couldn’t help the slight quickening of his breath. He rested his fingers on the cool metal of the countertop.

“Good shot,” said the photographer.

“Yeah?  That’s your job, right?”

 The man looked down at his camera again. “Yeah, that’s true. But unlike you, I can make as many mistakes as I want on the way to perfection.”

“Hm.” Stefan bit his lip, eyes cast down. He snapped his gaze up when he heard the camera click again.

“That is a very good one,” the photographer said from behind his camera, his voice still slightly hoarse. “You’re a good subject.”

“I— Thank you,” Stefan heard himself, embarrassingly, stutter.

With one last look overtop the camera, the photographer flounced off again, pointy shoes clicking on the floor and wispy hair flying every which way. Stefan released a breath, closing his eyes. What was it about the man that caught his attention like this?

Oh, what did it matter.

“Chef, I advise you to stop flirting with the photographer until we’re done,” Kveta said dryly. Stefan’s eyes snapped open.

“I’m not—”

“Oh, please, the only one who hasn’t noticed is Toni, and you know how he is.”

“I— He— Get back to work, Kveta.”

She grinned. “Right away, chef.”

And she was right. The food was far more important than whatever the intriguing photographer was playing at.

* * *

It was vaguely amusing to Olympe that Roderich Edelstein had not known his own employee of four years was married – to the man who had been playing Santa. His name was David, and he’d explained that Angélique had decided to stay home with her father today.

Olympe had luckily remembered what she was actually here for, had taken a deep breath and asked him if he knew anything about Natalya.

“Natalya?” David tapped his chin. “Oh, Natalya! She was an elf, yeah?”

Olympe nodded eagerly, clutching her braid.

“Yeah. I don’t know her that well, but her last name is Arlovskaya, and she’s from this hysterically stiff family. But like, the Malfoys from Harry Potter are nothing compared to them, stiff.”

Arlovskaya. Natalya Arlovskaya, Olympe printed into her mind. That would certainly help. She told David as much, and the tall man smiled.

“Sorry I can’t tell you where she lives or anything. As I said, I don’t know her that well. She doesn’t talk, really.” He clasped his platter under one arm and stepped aside to let the pointy photographer through, who had been taking pictures of the hall full of eating people just a few feet off. But the man didn’t move past him. Instead, he tapped his restless fingers against his camera.

“I might be of more help, there,” he said.

“What?” Olympe asked.

“You could have just told me you were looking for Natalya. We went to school together. I know where her family live, and it’s a fair bet she’s there today. Arlovsky traditions are sacred.”

“There you go,” David said, baring his straight white teeth in a grin and clapping the photographer on the shoulder. The man stumbled. His hands protectively curled around his camera on instinct.

“And I should get back to work,” David added. “I’ve heard the chef’s a real hardass, I don’t wanna get on his bad side.”

For some reason, the photographer snorted a laugh. Olympe ignored him, thanking David for his help.

“Well?” she then demanded. “Where do these people live?”

He smiled a lopsided smile. “Calm down. Here, I’ll write it down for you…”

* * *

“This was delicious,” Manon mumbled. She looked up to see if her brother had heard her, but he was talking to the boy seated next to him, across from her at the long table. She smiled slightly. The two of them were an unusual duo to see, and she didn’t want to make any presumptions, but judging by the way the boy with the lip piercings and the long hair looked at Noah, there was definitely something going on there. But maybe only from his side. Noah had grown into the same stoicness that Martin wore so well, and was hard to read.

In two years, he’d turned into a young man instead of a boy. Manon was feeling rather sentimental about it.

People were turning to look at the door. Noah and his – friend – Luca looked up too. Manon raised her eyebrows curiously when it became clear that there was some commotion outside the hall by the door. She turned in her seat too, never one to turn down the chance to witness something gossip-worthy.

Since almost everyone had finished their appetizer, all attention went towards the invisible skirmish. Some people were whispering anxiously about what it could be.

The noise died down after a minute, and Manon was ready to turn back, maybe talk to Noah, when the doors burst open, and there was a man shielding his eyes from the bright lights in the hall.

But – no way.

“What,” Noah breathed. And then, at the same as Manon, “ _Martin_.”

Their brother – and it really was him, he was wearing the same scarf as when Manon had seen him last, even – slowly lowered his hand, looking around the hall with narrowed eyes.

“Manon,” Noah whispered, voice shaking, but she didn’t pay attention to him.

Oh, how _dare_ Martin show up after all? Did he have _any idea_ —

She stood up so abruptly that he her chair teetered on its hind legs for a few seconds, but she didn’t pay attention to that either. The only thing that mattered was her _idiot_ of an older brother, who had noticed her and stood perfectly still while she stalked towards him, heels cracking down forcefully.

“Manon—” he said, but she shoved her hand against his chest, and he stepped backwards in shock.

“ _Martin_ —” another shove— “ _Robert_ —” another one— “ _Leclercq_. Do you have _any idea_ how _angry_ I am with you?!”

He was silent, but his lips were pressed tightly together and he wasn’t looking at her, but down at his shoes.

“You’re the oldest of us Martin,” she bit at him, “and yet you act like a child! _Look at me_.”

He did, jaw clenching, eyes hard.

“Noah came right away even though he knew you could come. How dare you show up like this? Are we just supposed to take this and run with it?”

People were staring at them, Manon was vaguely aware of that, but it _didn’t matter_. It didn’t matter.

“ _Two years_ , and you show up like this, with your stupid scarf and your weird hair, and how are we supposed to react, Martin?” She poked his chest. “How are we… Do you really expect…”

Her hand was shaking, she noticed, as if it were happening to someone else. She rested it against her brother’s chest.

“Manon,” he said again, “I…”

“You _idiot_ ,” she breathed, then reached up to haul him into a tight hug, pressing her face into his scarf and closing her eyes against the prickling of tears behind the lids. She felt him awkwardly pat her back, which made her laugh into the wool, though it sounded more like a sob to her own ears.

People were applauding. She laughed again.

“I have no idea what I’m doing here,” Martin mumbled into her ear. She took a deep breath. He smelled like outside, and the familiar cigarette smoke that always had clung to him. Oh, great, he still hadn’t kicked that habit, then.

Manon smiled nonetheless, pulling back to look up at her brother.

“We’ll figure it out. We will.”

A cautious smile edged around his mouth. Manon hugged him again.

* * *

“So wait,” Liz said, “you don’t even know this Magnus’s surname? You’ve got _nothing_ on him except the fact that he drives a taxi and wears leather jackets?”

“And he’s got a half-brother,” Eduard mumbled. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Tuomi called from the kitchen. “Do you guys want more wine? My throat is dry as all fuck after that singing.”

“I’m good,” Liz called back. “He’s right, it does matter. Get some wine for Ed, he needs it!”

“Sure thing!”

Eduard watched his cousin refill his glass silently. Of course it mattered. He wasn’t an impulsive person. He planned _everything_. And yet, in an unguarded moment, he had allowed himself to get close to, almost _kiss_ a near-stranger. Of course that mattered, if just on a philosophical level. It mattered that Magnus could get him to do that, and it mattered that he would probably never see the man again.

 Unlike Liz and her bookstore owner, he had no idea where to find his Christmas Eve miracle, as Tuomi had oh-so-funnily dubbed their situations.

“You could,” the man in question was saying, simultaneously putting a piece of toast in his mouth, “you could just start hailing taxis until you find him.”

Eduard tilted his head. If it came to that…

“Don’t do that!” Tuomi said, spraying crumbs over the couch. He looked horrified. “I was joking! You’d never find him that way, Ed, you know that, right?”

“Yeah… I know.” He sighed. “It’s stupid, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not stupid,” Tuomi protested. “It’s romantic.”

Eduard picked up his wine and took an overly large gulp.

“It’s kind of stupid,” said Liz, while she tried to save Eduard from choking by pounding him on the back painfully. “It’s Christmas! No time for moping around over unfindable taxi drivers, Christmas. Finish your wine and we’ll go to the mall.”

No one ever argued with Liz when she sounded this decisive, and her cousins were no exception to that rule. Eduard carefully drank his wine, Tuomi shoveled the last of the toast into his mouth, as if they wouldn’t be having one of his infamous huge dinners when they returned, and Liz looked very pleased with herself.

* * *

Luca wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Noah. He’d never seen him so tense before; he always seemed to exude calm confidence.

But, as it were, he could only clasp his thigh under the table and squeeze his fingers when Noah dropped his hand in his.

Across the table from them, the elder Leclercq siblings were holding a halting conversation, wrought with long pauses and sentences that trailed off like dying flames. Martin Leclercq had greeted Noah, and Noah had returned it, but they hadn’t spoken since, even if they’d both looked like they were on the verge of saying something multiple times. Luca tried to imagine ever losing contact with Dragos, and his heart clenched. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle that.

Well, at this exact moment he think he could stand it, because Dragos was taking a suspicious amount of pictures of something in the kitchen and Luca had heard him mutter something about his _gaydar_ earlier, which was a clear warning sign to stay as far away from him as possible. But aside from that, his point stood.

They did look alike, the three Leclercqs. They had the same eyes – a bright green that Luca loved. Manon and Noah had the same narrow nose, and they both had freckles, though Noah’s were fainter.

Noah and Martin, on the other hand, had the same lips – and that gave Luca very weird thoughts when he noticed it, so he focused on the conversation, or what passed for it.

When Manon was in the middle of a contemplative pause, Noah suddenly asked, “Why are you here, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes snapped to him. Luca wondered where the prominent scar above his eyebrow had come from.

“What?” the man asked. Manon was pressing her red lips tight together.

“Why are you here? You said you couldn’t come.”

He sighed. “I was with a friend – maybe Manon remembers him, we were friends in school… Anyway. He thought I should go. Was very adamant about not wasting chances, actually, I’ve never seen him like that. So he drove me over here – he actually drives a cab nowadays and pushed me in.”

Noah stared at his brother for a while, hand shaking in Luca’s. Then he clenched his jaw, nodded, and went back to his food. Manon sighed, and Martin just sat. He had no food, and had refused to take some of hers.

Luca leaned over to Noah.

“You okay?”

“I don’t know, Luc.” Noah glanced at him. “I’m not very good company. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He wanted to kiss him, but refrained.  The atmosphere was tense enough without him in the mix.

* * *

She had told the driver of the taxi she’d found outside the mall to wait for her to come back, buttoned up her coat and put her scarf and gloves on, and was walking up a winding drive to an imposing mansion on a small, snow-covered hill.

Olympe was from a rich family herself, but the Castils prided themselves on their modernity and sleek style. The Arlovsky family seemed to do the opposite.

The garden was large, decorated with leafless topiary bushes and now-empty flowerbeds as well as white marble statues and fountains and, behind the house and a small greenhouse in the distance, a forest of evergreens spread out. It was not far out of town, but Olympe felt as if she had stepped into a Victorian-set movie.

When she finally reached the house – and they must have seen her coming from one of those high windows, wasn’t it? She hadn’t exactly been moving at top speed on her stiletto heels on cobblestone path – Olympe looked around for a bell, but found only a large brass gargoyle-head knocker. She stared at it for a while, dumbstruck.

Arlovsky traditions were sacred, indeed.

With a deep breath of cold air that burned down her throat, she raised the knocker and let it bonk on the white lacquered wood of the double doors, one, two times. She clasped her hands in front of herself and waited, recalling David’s comment about the Malfoy family and half-expecting to be greeted by a house-elf.

Or a butler, she supposed.

Instead, when one of the doors opened slightly, there was a tall woman – taller than Natalya was, Olympe would guess – with light eyes and short blonde hair peering around it.

“Hello?” she said.

“Good evening. I am looking for Natalya Arlovskaya. Is she here?”

The door opened a tad further, allowing Olympe to see into a high, white marble hall. The woman was wearing a shimmery dress and high heels, but there was dirt under the short fingernails clutching the wood.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m…” Olympe glanced at her hands. “A friend, maybe. I am unsure whether I am anything at the moment.”

The woman’s eyes, for some reason, lit up. She was probably related to Natalya, Olympe decided. They had the same sharp nose.

“Come in,” she said, stepping aside to let Olympe pass. “I’m Irinya, I’m Natalya’s sister. Please, wait in the drawing room while I go and get her for you, okay?”

“The drawing—”

“I know, there’s a drawing room. It’s insane. Here we are.” She opened another set of double doors across the hall, which led to a light room with chairs and couches and a crackling fireplace despite the fact that there was no one in there. There were actual tapestries on the walls, and they looked old and expensive. Olympe gingerly sat down on the edge of a chaise longue while Irinya left the room. It was like a museum in here.

A _drawing room_.

What had she gotten herself into?

* * *

“Here’s Manon!” Tuomi said enthusiastically. He was holding Eduard’s hand for some reason, so he had no choice but to walk with his cousin.

The reason for the handholding was most likely that Tuomi was tipsy. He was even more excitable than usual when he’d had a few drinks.

“I thought we were here for Liz’s Roderich,” Eduard tried, which earned him a smack from her.

“We’ll get to that! Hi, Manon!”

Tuomi’s coworker, whom Eduard had met only once before, looked up with a small smile.

“Tuomi, hi! And your cousins, right? I can’t recall your names, sorry.”

“They don’t mind,” Tuomi said. Eduard shared an amused look with Liz while he continued, “Those must be your brothers! Hi, Leclercq brothers!”

The good-looking young man on the other side of the table nodded at Tuomi, obviously bemused.

“Yes,” said Manon. “That’s Noah. This is Martin.” Then, she blinked. “Wait, why are you here?”

“Ah, well, it’s a long story, really.”

“Oh, sit down, then, all three of you.”

And so, they took some of the chairs left empty by people who were standing around in small groups, eating pastries, and Eduard found himself seated next to a boy with lip piercings, who smiled at him lopsidedly and introduced himself as Luca, while Tuomi talked animatedly at Manon, pushing his sleeves up, showing his tattoos, and Martin Leclercq looked uncomfortable.

Once again, Eduard got the distinct feeling he was the least interesting person in the room.

* * *

And that was the last plate.

Stefan turned around to thank his team for their good work, but in the middle of his small speech, he saw Kveta wiggling her eyebrows at him. He petered off when he followed her gaze and saw the photographer hiding in the shadows next to the freezer.

“So, and, uhm…” Stefan frowned, trying to recall what he’d been saying.

“Merry Christmas, chef!” Kveta interrupted, and before Stefan could process what was happening, she had somehow ushered everyone out of the kitchen, closing the door with a wink in his direction, so that only he and the photographer remained.

They looked at each other across the counter.

The photographer slowly touched his tongue to his front teeth. Stefan took his hat off, ruffling his hair. The man’s lips tugged into a smile. He wasn’t carrying his camera at the moment, Stefan noticed.

And then, because he was looking anyway, and it seemed like the right thing to do, he let his eyes drag over his unusual attire, his bright red shirt and _fake leather pants_. It was astonishing that didn’t look ridiculous, and it was ridiculously hot that he actually looked attractive. No grown man should be allowed to pull off leather pants without looking like a Hell’s Angels member.

Hm, pull off. There was a thought.

Everything about him was sharp angles. Stefan rather wanted to touch them, see if they would cut him.

The photographer’s smile turned cocky when Stefan met his eyes again.

“Hi,” he said, voice low and hoarse. He stepped out of the shadows, dragging long fingers over the countertop as he neared.

“Hey,” Stefan returned, standing his ground, tilting his chin up and looking through his eyelashes. The two of them seemed to be about the same height. “Did you get good pictures?”

“Oh, certainly.” Face tilted towards the floor, he looked up darkly. “I’m Dragos, by the way.”

“Stefan.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, now well within touching range. He smelled like cinnamon.

“Very nice,” said Stefan, and he surged forward to press him into the counter, mouths colliding messily.

There was no hesitation in his response, the arms wrapping around his neck and the legs parting so Stefan could press one of his own between them. He raked his own fingers over _Dragos’s_ sides, feeling his warm, hard body move under his touch. The strip of skin above the waistband of his infuriating pants was searing hot, yet nothing compared to his mouth, which tasted sweet and spicy and had Stefan shuddering with need.

When they pulled apart to breathe, the brown of Dragos’s eyes had been nearly swallowed by his pupils. Stefan smirked slowly.

Yes, merry Christmas to him.

* * *

_There is a woman in the drawing room for you_.

Natalya was surprised her heartbeat wasn’t echoing through the hall.

_Yeah, she is kind of petite. Braid, glasses?_

What in the world was Olympe doing here? It had to be her, right? Natalya descended the stairs slowly. How did she even know where to find her? This was surreal.

In front of the ornate doors to the drawing room, Natalya paused to take a deep breath and smooth her dress down. The lace caught on her fingers; she tugged it loose absentmindedly, then cursed silently at the hole she’d just created. What a great impression she was going to make. Never mind that Olympe had seen her nearly naked – she was still an Arlovsky, and some things were just hard to overcome.

Without thinking any more about it, Natalya pushed the doors open and stepped into the warm room.

It was her.

Olympe stood up, taking a step in Natalya’s direction as she closed the doors, hands clasped in front of her body. She was wearing a different pencil skirt than yesterday, this one midnight blue, but the same impossibly high heels, and her hair was in the same long braid, swept over one shoulder.

“Hello,” she said. She took another step, heels disappearing into the rug.

“Hi,” Natalya said. “I… How did you know…”

Olympe tucked some hair back into her braid, seemingly nervous. “It was a rather… Convoluted series of coincidences, so to speak. I just wanted to, to talk to you. You were gone…”

“I was.” Natalya turned her earring around in her earlobe.

“Yes. And I…”

Natalya took a step into the room, her heart still beating overtime. Olympe _cared_ that she disappeared.

“I hope I did nothing wrong, Natalya. I had a great night, myself.”

“So did I!” It came out more forceful than she had intended. She clenched her jaw, but Olympe smiled.

“Shall we sit down?”

Stiffly, Natalya made her way over to the couch by the fire and sat next to her, putting as much space between them as she could get away with.

“You have a drawing room,” Olympe remarked.

“We also have a ballroom and an observatory. Well, my parents do.”

“Remarkable.”

Natalya huffed. “That’s one way to put it. Irinya’s probably going to turn the whole estate into a hotel or a museum or something when she inherits it.”

“Your sister, Irinya.”

“She’s the oldest.” She frowned down at Olympe, whose smile had grown the tiniest little bit. “Why are we talking about my ancestral home?”

She shrugged far too casually. “Good subject.”

“Is it.”

“It is _a_ subject. We’re talking. It’s still easy, isn’t it?”

“Sneaky.”

Olympe laughed, then, and Natalya’s heart jumped.

“I am very sneaky, Natalya. I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“So please, tell me about your family. Perhaps then I can understand why you left.”

Natalya took a deep breath, nodded, and started to speak.

* * *

Roderich hardly recognized Erzsébet in the horrendous sweater she was wearing – Alex had to point her out among the throng of people that had congregated in the beautifully decorated hall for dessert.

She was talking to a man in an equally horrendous sweater, with actual bells, and tiny lights flickering multiple colors. Roderich thought he might have seen him around before.

Erzsébet had spotted him and Alex, and was waving them over.

“Ah, Mr Edelstein,” the man said. He was smaller than Roderich, and the end of a tattoo could be seen curling around both his wrists and a visible part of his collarbone. Roderich tried not to purse his lips.

“Good evening,” he greeted. “Erzsébet. Merry Christmas.”

“Hello. This is my cousin, Tuomi. He works at the bakery on the first floor.”

Ah, yes, that did ring a bell. He nodded. Alex was trying to hitch the man’s right sleeve up to look at the tattoo. Tuomi looked down at him with a grin and rolled the jingling sweater out of the way. Alex stared in fascination.

“This must be your son,” Tuomi said, grinning at Roderich. “Liz told us what you did for her. That was an amazing thing to do, Mr Edelstein.”

Roderich heard the unspoken words. _I never expected that from you_. He knew he had a reputation verging on negative among the other shopkeepers in the mall. He didn’t mind – it was mostly the truth, when it came down to it – but it was nice to hear a different noise every once in a while, especially on Christmas. He didn’t voice any of this. Instead, he nodded at Tuomi, then turned to Erzsébet again.

“Liz?” he asked, curious.

“Oh it’s a childhood nickname, of sorts. Oh, by the way, Ed, my other cousin, loved the book. He’s promised to stop by come the new year.”

“That is wonderful to hear.”

Tuomi had knelt down and was explaining his tattoos to an eager Alex. As much as he disliked tattoos in general, Roderich agreed with his son that Tuomi’s were very artistic. At the very least, there were no skulls or naked ladies in sight.

“He keeps the skulls to different parts of body, don’t worry,” Erzsébet said.

 Had he said that aloud?

“You looked worried, there. Tuomi’s good with kids. I can’t wait to become Aunt Liz at some point.” She smiled, green eyes sparkling. “Hey, Roderich?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe I could come and look after Alex some time? I’d love to hear more about his art.”

For the first time in the barely two days that Roderich had known her, she looked unsure of herself. He glanced down at his son, who was now pushing Tuomi’s left sleeve up insistently, and back up at her.

“I think that we would both like that, Erzsébet.”

She grinned, face softening, then stepped around her cousin and Roderich’s son to embrace him, pressing his lips against his cheek again. The metal of her nose ring was startlingly cold against his cheekbone.

“Thank you. _Again_ ,” she whispered.

“Gross,” said Alex. Roderich laughed.

* * *

“So, no, wait – you still had to _pay him_ for driving you here?” Manon asked. “He’s been your best friend for twenty years!”

Martin shrugged, expressionless. “I don’t cut him any slack at the bar either. It’s something we’ve always done.”

Manon smiled up at her brother. It had taken a while, but they were finally going somewhere. She wasn’t sure where, but it was something. It helped that they weren’t stuck at their table anymore and had found a slightly less crowded corner where they could talk. Noah was standing a few feet away with his friend – boyfriend? Manon really was very curious, but if he didn’t want to tell them, she understood – and Tuomi’s cousin. The cousin was kind of cute, she supposed, in a nerdy way.

“Well, I wouldn’t give Tuomi anything if he didn’t work with me, I get it.” She smiled at Eduard, who looked up at the mention of his cousin’s name. He gave a small smile back.

“Even when Magnus and I did – is he okay?”

Eduard was coughing suddenly, glasses nearly flying off with the force of it. Noah and Luca looked startled, but Luca gathered his wits quickly, pounding him on the back.

When that didn’t work, and Eduard was starting to attract attention with his hacking and choking noises, Luca wrapped his arms around the man’s chest, and _pulled_. Eduard doubled over, and though he was still coughing, he sounded like he could breathe again between coughs.

“You okay?” Luca asked, eyebrows raised. Eduard waved dismissive hand.

“I’m – sorry.” He turned to Martin. “Did – say Mag-nus?” He pushed his glasses up his sweaty nose.

“Yes. I did. Magnus Poulsen. Why?” Martin frowned down at him.

“And he—” Eduard coughed— “taxi?”

“He drives a taxi, yes. He took me here.”

The man swore under his wheezing breath, turned on his heels and wormed his way through the crowd to the open entrance doors. Manon stared after him, as did Martin, Noah and Luca.

“Okay,” Luca said slowly, effectively voicing Manon’s thoughts. “Weird.”

“He didn’t even thank you,” Noah put in. “You practically saved his life, Luc.”

It was impossible to ignore how adoring he looked.

“I hope Magnus is okay,” Martin mumbled. “He’s probably still around, unless somebody else needed a taxi.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Manon said, remembering Magnus Poulsen as a very upbeat man with a strong personality, the only one who could stand up to Martin sometimes.

Still. Very strange.

* * *

_Nothing_.

Eduard sighed, his breath fogging up his glasses. What had he been thinking anyway? Even if it was _his_ Magnus – and wasn’t that an embarrassing thought – of course he wouldn’t have hung around outside in the freezing cold. He’d gotten enough of that last night.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, the bells on his sweater jingling. He should go back inside and… Well, perhaps he could ask Martin Leclercq about Magnus. At least he got his full name now, provided it was the correct taxi-driving Magnus.

“Magnus Poulsen,” he breathed. It was something.

A _thunk_ down the parking lot caught Eduard’s attention. He peered through the snowy cars and could make out a flash of red, a black jacket. Eduard stood on his toes to get a clear view, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Get a room!” he yelled irritably, then turned. This was just unfair.

* * *

“You get a room!” Dragos shouted back at the unknown voice, detaching himself from Stefan, who chuckled and took the opportunity to press him harder against the car, pushing his thigh between the photographer’s legs. Dragos gasped, tightening his hold on Stefan’s hair.

“Is this – your car?”

“What? No.”

“If we ever wanna get to your place, we – ah – should _prooobably_ — Keep doing that, _fuck_.”

Stefan obligingly scraped his teeth along the man’s sharp jaw again. It was thrilling to be out here, but it was also very cold, and he had no desire to get literal blue balls however much he wanted Dragos.

So, with difficulty, he untangled himself and grabbed Dragos’s cold hand, tugging him to the right car.

* * *

“He’s coming back,” Noah whispered at Luca, who followed his gaze in confusion until he saw that Eduard guy returning. He seemed pretty cool – he knew a lot about music – until he’d started choking and ran off without a word of thanks. He seemed rather dejected right now.

Noah’s siblings were looking over, too. When Eduard noticed their gazes, he faltered, but he pushed his glasses up and continued towards them steadily.

“Hey,” he said, voice still tense. “Sorry I just ran off, that was rude.”

“It kind of was,” Noah muttered. Luca fought to keep his fond grin down, poking his boyfriend in the side. He was so offended on his behalf!

“Yes, uhm, sorry.” Eduard looked around at the four of them. “So – thank you, Luca. I really appreciate it.”

“Just doing my duty,” Luca grinned.

“It was a very good reaction!” Manon put in, smiling in his direction. Martin, astonishingly, was nodding.

“Yeah,” Noah said.

“It wasn’t a big deal, really.”

“But it was!” Manon gushed. “He could—”

“You know,” Noah interrupted, his voice uncharacteristically strong. “You know – Luca and I are dating. He’s my boyfriend.”

Manon shut up, mouth slightly open. Eduard slunk off wisely. Noah was trembling, and – well, what was stopping him now? Luca kissed him soundly, sliding his hands around his jaw and into his hair. The way he kissed back was nearly desperate.

It was still silent in their corner when they parted, noses tucking together. Luca stroked his thumb over Noah’s cheekbone, trying to reassure him that whatever happened, he’d be there with him.

“Congratulations… Noah.” _Martin_.

Noah pulled away abruptly to stare at his brother. He was still – or again – trembling, jaw clenching and unclenching.

“I’m happy for you,” Martin added. Luca could practically feel Manon holding her breath, mainly because he was doing the same thing.

Then—

“ _Fuck_ ,” Noah breathed, flinging himself at his brother, throwing his arms around the man’s neck. With barely a pause, Martin hugged back, big hands holding tight to Noah’s waistcoat.

Manon clasped her hands over her mouth while her brothers mumbled indecipherable words at each other, eyes wet.

Luca couldn’t stop his proud smile. This was what mattered. Family.

Speaking of. Where _was_ Dragos?

* * *

Natalya looked beautiful, Olympe reflected for the hundredth time. She wore the black lace dress as well as the leather pants from yesterday.

Regal. That was the word. Knowing her family history a little better, it wasn’t that strange. The odd contradictions in her personality made perfect sense knowing all that.

They were still sitting in the drawing room. It had gotten pitch dark outside while they talked and talked and talked about what the future could possibly hold for them. Because they both wanted a Future, capital F, that much had been abundantly clear from the moment Natalya had set foot in the room.

“Your family, do they know you are… Are you lesbian, or…?”

“I am, and they don’t,” Natalya said. She had kicked her shoes off and was curled up on the couch, absentmindedly playing with Olympe’s hair. The firelight made her sharp cheekbones stand out even more and gave her pale skin a golden hue. It was nearly ethereal, and Olympe was afraid she was going to run out of adjectives for her beauty in the very near future.

“That is to say, I haven’t ever told them,” Natalya amended, “but I can hardly imagine they’d be surprised.”

“Oh? And they would not mind?”

Her thin lips stretched into a smile. “My parents have many faults. For example, giving me and Irinya glass sculptures of creepy animals every Christmas and refusing to get an electronic gate installed on the drive. But for all that they do things wrong, I am certain they won’t mind if I spend my life with a woman. Especially if she is sufficiently rich.”

“Which I am,” Olympe added, unable to help herself.

“Which you are. I’m in luck.”

“That is good to hear, though.”

They sat silently for a while, looking into the fire. Natalya undid and re-braided the end of Olympe’s hair without watching.

“Shall we go on another date, then?” Olympe eventually asked, turning to look at her. “In the near future?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Olympe wet her lips and sat up straight.

“Let’s have a proper introduction, now that neither of us is shirking our duties or wearing curly shoes.”

Though she laughed, Natalya clasped Olympe’s hand when she offered it.

“Hello, I’m Olympe Castil, 31 years old, bestselling author.”

She laughed again, and Olympe smiled contentedly.

“Now you.”

“Nice to meet you, Olympe. My name is Natalya Arlovskaya, I’m 27, part-time Christmas elf and part-time ballet teacher.”

“Ballet— I did not know that!”

Natalya ducked her head, still holding Olympe’s hand.

“How have you not mentioned that? I did professional ballet for a while, you know.”

“Oh?” She looked up again, and Olympe nodded. She looked into the dark blue eyes, pupils huge in the low light from the fire, and was unable to look away. This was going places. Good, promising places.

Natalya tugged on her hand and kissed her softly.

* * *

“Oh, hey,” Dragos said when Stefan pulled over on his street, careful not to let the car slide on the slippery road, “I live around here too!”

“You do? I’ve never seen you before.” Stefan was certain he would have noticed the man.

“Something tells me that’s gonna change,” he mumbled. Stefan grinned. Yeah, if today was good – and all evidence was pointing towards that – then chances were it would. It’d be good to have someone, whether just for sex or something more. It’d been too long.

“Here we go,” he said, pulling out his keys and opening his car door. It was a short walk to his building, but bitterly cold. He opened the front door quickly. Dragos lagged behind for some reason, looking up at the bricks dusted in white. He hurried inside when Stefan made an impatient noise.

“Something wrong?” he shot over his shoulder, hurrying to his apartment. The corridor was still cold.

“No, I just…” Dragos silently counted the doors from the stairs to Stefan’s apartment. Stefan leaned against the doorpost while he counted again. Was this some tic he had? Should he just let him be?

“Fuck.”

“What, Dragos?”

“No, uhm… Your upstairs neighbors. Noisy bunch, right?”

“Sometimes,” Stefan replied slowly.

“Yeah, my downstairs neighbor, he – he thinks that about me too. Sometimes he pokes the ceiling with a broom handle or something.” He bit his lip, flicking his eyes to the ceiling.

Stefan stared at him. The silence seemed to stretch on endlessly.

“It’s a stick,” he eventually said.

“What?”

“The thing I poke the ceiling with. Some stick I found once.”

“Ah. So that’s not a euphemism, is it?” Dragos grinned nervously, tugging at the stud in his earlobe.

“No. No, it’s not. You could have just not said anything, you know.”

He shrugged. “You _know_ we’re gonna be running into each other all the time from now on, that’s just how the universe works. It would have been awkward.”

Chances were he was right, Stefan reckoned. He looked at the man closely. He was still intriguingly attractive, and honestly, Stefan knew he overreacted to the noise level upstairs sometimes, when he’d worked late at the restaurant.

“Are you loud in bed, Dragos?” he asked, letting his voice drop. With satisfaction, he heard his breath hitch, eyes widening before he gathered himself.

“I’m not. Stefan.”

“Really.” He took a step backwards into his apartment, and Dragos followed, eyes darkening again.

“What’re you gonna do if I am? Poke me with your big stick?”

“I might just do that anyway.”

Dragos kicked the door shut in a casual manner that erased all doubt about him living in a place with the same layout. His eyes were trained on Stefan, who was walking backwards towards his bedroom.

“You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” Dragos asked, coming closer, backing Stefan into his bedroom door.

“For once, I think I wouldn’t mind if you made some noise.”

“For once, I think I’m gonna be _very_ quiet.” Dragos kissed him, pressing the full length of their bodies together. He was still so hot, digging his teeth into Stefan’s neck, which had him arching off the door and into him. He raked his blunt nails down Dragos’s back in return, and got a growl.

“You’re already making more noise than me,” he pointed out.

“We’ll see to that. Open this fucking door.”

Stefan did, and they tumbled into his bedroom.

* * *

There was a knock on the double doors of the drawing room, and Natalya barely had time to straighten her dress before one of the doors opened. Her father strode in.

“Natalya, dear, your mother and I...” He seemed to notice Olympe sitting on the couch, looking, to her credit, very composed. “Oh,” he said. “I don’t believe me have met. Who is this young lady?”

Irinya was looking around the door and grinning. Natalya gestured her in with a jerk of her chin, and, as expected, Ivan and her mother followed. It would be easier if she only had to do this once, for both herself and Olympe. Her mother was raising her thin eyebrows haughtily. Natalya stood up. Olympe immediately did the same.

“This is Olympe Castil,” she said, affecting the most Arlovsky family-proof voice she could muster.

“The writer?” her mother asked.

“Yes, Mother. Also, incidentally, my girlfriend.”

Irinya gasped, eyes widening. “Oh, congratulations, Nat! Both of you!”

“Yes, congratulations,” Ivan said, nodding sagely but smiling.

“Ms Castil,” said her father. Olympe walked over to him to shake his hand, which looked massive compared to her dainty fingers.

“Mr Arlovsky, Mrs Arlovskaya. I apologize for not announcing my visit. It was rude.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ms Castil,” Natalya’s mother said. “It is a pleasure to meet you, but we really must be going now. Ivan and Irinya are taking their leave as well. Natalya, are you staying? The staff has gone as well.”

Natalya saw Olympe’s eyes widen behind her glasses at the casual mention of having a staff, and smiled inwardly.

“I think we will leave as well, Mother.”

“Good, dear.”

So they quickly gathered their things, Natalya pulled her shoes on, and walked outside with the rest of the family, who parted for the garage. Natalya hugged her siblings quickly, and they shook Olympe’s hand.

“Oh, good grief,” Olympe said as they walked down the drive. “I told the poor taxi driver to wait for me! I promised I’d pay double the fare, but he must be freezing! Or gone.”

They sped up, Natalya faintly amused despite herself.

The taxi was still there, with the driver drumming on the steering wheel and obviously singing. He stopped when they got in. Natalya gave him the address of her apartment, and they crunched off through the snow.

* * *

“Attention, please! Attention,” a voice crackled through the hall, and everyone looked up at the raised platform by the Christmas tree expectantly. “Hello!”

It was the mayor of the town. Eduard half-listened to her speech about the dinner and the charity, the effort all the volunteers had put in, and how much money they expected to have earned, and how the cooks were all from a restaurant nearby and had all volunteered as well, and here was the chef…

There was applause.

“Chef Stefan Borisov,” the mayor repeated. “He’s supposed to come up here now, we’ve got some flowers for him,” she quipped. “Has anyone seen chef Borisov?”

One of the cooks, a woman with short brown hair, announced that she’d go and check the kitchen. The smile she shared with the other cooks suggested she knew something the rest of the attendants didn’t.

There was a groan behind Eduard, and he turned to see Luca Rotaru dragging his hand over his face in exasperation.

“Are you alright?” he asked. The teenager looked at him from between his fingers.

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry. Just… Argh, Dragos, why the _chef_?”

This meant nothing to Eduard, so he turned his attention back to the small platform, in front of which a small commotion had started. He peered at the people huddling around the brown-haired cook, who looked and sounded very angry.

“— _stealing leftovers_! Honestly!”

“It seems that the chef is gone,” the mayor said, “but, ah, the good news is that an interloper has been caught in his kitchen in the process of stealing some leftovers, so I’m sure he will be grateful to hear that.”

What an excitement. Eduard put the last of his pastry in his mouth, and then the brown-haired cook stepped aside, and he very nearly choked again. He waved several people who wanted to help away brusquely. He needed to look.

Because _no_. It couldn’t—

But the spiky coppery blond hair was unmistakable.

Magnus.

The man was looking at the ruckus that Eduard was causing with amusement, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

Eduard couldn’t move. It was as if he was pinned in place by the knowledge that the sweeping gaze could either pass him by like Magnus didn’t even recognize him, or stop and linger. And then…

Magnus froze when he locked eyes with Eduard, lips parting slightly but otherwise perfectly still.

Eduard’s feet suddenly remembered their job. If there were people in his way, he didn’t notice them, and if anyone spoke to him, he didn’t hear it.

“Eduard,” Magnus said. He seemed to unfreeze when Eduard was close enough to touch, and his face was open, confusion and happiness and anxiety all at once written in the set of his eyes and mouth.

“Magnus,” he returned.

“Ya know, ya forgot your hat.”

Eduard searched his sharp blue eyes, though he couldn’t say for what. He didn’t find it, which was, somehow – good.

“That’s not the only thing I forgot,” he said, and before Magnus had a chance to react, he’d hauled him in by his leather jacket and kissed him soundly, glasses digging into his cheek. All the tension of the past days seemed to flow out of him; he poured everything he had into the kiss, fire tingling through his lips where Magnus’s were cold and soft against them.

Someone was applauding. _Everyone_ was applauding. Magnus smiled against Eduard’s mouth. It felt _amazing._ Eduard tilted his head to deepen the kiss, hands sliding underneath the jacket. Someone who sounded a lot like Liz yelled something embarrassing. It didn’t matter.

All that mattered was Magnus, whose lips did taste suspiciously like Tuomi’s pastries.

They were both laughing when they broke apart. Their noses bumped when they leaned in again, and again, and on more time…

* * *

Manon threw her arms around her brothers and hauled Luca in, tugging on his shoulder. He smelled a lot like the hint of spice that lingered on Noah’s skin. He fell into Noah’s chest and smiled up at him even as they were squeezed together by his sister.

* * *

“A toast to Christmas miracles,” Tuomi proposed, raising his plastic champagne glass.

“You sap,” said Erzsébet. “But sure. Go on, Alex, toasts are for everyone.”

Roderich raised his glass too. “Christmas miracles,” he said. You never knew what would happen, after all.

* * *

Stefan pressed Dragos into his mattress, the man’s fingers grasping the sheets desperately, and smirked with satisfaction when he drew a hoarse cry from his throat. Dragos arched his back, then fell down, panting.

“You are loud,” Stefan mumbled. “Very loud.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Give me a few minutes, hm?”

* * *

“It’s snowing again.”

“Hm?”

Olympe gestured at the window, which offered a beautiful view of the festively lit town. Natalya hummed from where her head was resting on Olympe’s thigh.

“Perhaps we can go skating again tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Natalya paused to look at the snow and lament the lack of a Christmas tree in her apartment. She was going to have to re-think her stance on the holiday.

“Hey, Olympe?”

“Yes?”

“Merry Christmas.”

She smiled down at her softly, fingers stroking her hair.

“Merry Christmas, Natalya.”


End file.
